


tumblr drabbles

by ikeracity



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-03 09:00:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 93
Words: 121,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5284727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikeracity/pseuds/ikeracity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the title suggests, this is a collection of tumblr drabbles of various lengths, AUs, and genres.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. undercover cops

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [coffee shop AU](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12680742) by [wendywindy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendywindy/pseuds/wendywindy)



> I've had a few people asking me to collect my tumblr drabbles on AO3 and I'm finally getting around to doing it. It'll take a while to shift everything over, but I'll try to do it in a timely manner.

“Look,” Erik said, “it’s all about their upbringing. If they were brought up well, they’ll behave. If they didn’t have a firm hand growing up, they’ll be unruly shitheads.”

Charles hummed. He was paying half of his attention to their conversation and half to the notifications on his phone. An APB had been put out for a green Ford Explorer, and Charles took a moment to memorize the license plate. “You don’t believe in second chances then?”

Erik snorted. “I didn’t say that. I’m just saying, the way they were raised is important.”

“Well, naturally. But anyone can turn their life around.” He gave Erik a wry look. “Even unruly shitheads.”

“Tell that to Luco,” Erik grumbled, taking a sip from his coffee. The fingers of his other hand drummed impatiently against the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the red stoplight.

Charles sighed. “Why did you even adopt a dog if all you’re going to do is complain about it?”

“It wasn’t _my_ idea. My mother volunteers at the shelter and she fell in love with that… _thing_ …and she made me adopt it.”

“She held a gun to your head?”

Erik rolled his eyes. “No. But you know she has her ways.”

“Fair enough,” Charles conceded. Edie Lehnsherr was a formidable woman. Even the most grizzled detectives in the department would think twice before crossing her.  

“Anyway,” Erik said, “you’re coming over later to deal with him. You’re the one who actually likes dogs.”

Charles snorted so hard he nearly spilled his tea. “And who was the one who spent an hour last week helping those firefighters fish two pit bulls out of the river?”

“That was different. That was—”

They were interrupted by the sudden roar of a revved engine. Glancing out his window, Charles saw a shiny black BMW parked alongside them, two frat boy types sitting in the front. The driver had a generically handsome, boy-next-door kind of face. The passenger was a slightly smaller copy of him—clearly brothers. When Charles met the driver’s eyes, the boy waved brazenly and revved his engine again.

The roar of the engine of their own car made Charles glance over at Erik. His partner had a shit-eating grin on his face, his eyes bright.

“Incredibly not worth it,” Charles said. Erik only revved their engine again.

The light turned green, and the BMW lurched forward, its driver whooping. Erik took off after it, watching the speedometer. As soon as they hit thirty miles an hour, he flipped the lights on, and Charles hid his smile at the surge of sheer panic that blasted from the BMW. They heard an explosive “SHIT!” and the BMW slammed on the brakes.

Erik pulled over behind it and cut the engine. “Be nice to them,” Charles said. He skimmed the boys’ minds long enough to determine that they weren’t threats, then leaned back and sipped his tea. “It’s the older brother’s birthday.”

Opening his door, Erik smirked. “When am I not nice?”

Through his open window, Charles heard the boy apologizing even before Erik had reached him. “I’m so sorry, officer, I had no idea—we were just playin’, we didn’t mean to do that, I swear. I’m always a safe driver, I don’t know what got into me, I just—”

He cut off as Erik loomed over the window, hands braced on the roof of the BMW. “You realize that that was a big mistake, don’t you?”

“God, yeah. Yeah, of course, it was a huge mistake, I’m so fuckin’—shit, my bad— _god_ —I’m sorry!”  

“It was a big mistake,” Erik drawled, “because you know that if we’d put our foot down, we’d have smoked you.”

The boy went silent. Charles could just barely see his face in the sliver of open window, eyes shot open wide, mouth gaping. Erik snickered all the way back to the car.

“I thought I told you to be nice,” Charles said mildly as Erik slid back into the car.

“Would you have preferred if I ticketed them for trying to street race two cops?”

“You goaded them.”

Erik leveled the shit-eating grin on him and gunned the engine. “What? You know you were thinking the same.”  

 


	2. coffee shop AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: coffee shop AU – ‘You’re the customer and you get back at me for all the times I’ve spelt your name wrong by mispronouncing my name in increasingly horrible ways’ AU

Raven’s coffee shop is always busy, and Sunday afternoons are no exception. With Raven herself out on maternity leave, Charles has taken over as temporary manager and cashier, partly to help out, mostly just to stave off the boredom of a slow summer with no classes. It’s nearing three o’clock on a cool, brisk Sunday when the front door swings open and in walks a tall, steely-eyed man in a dark suit and an eye-popping purple tie. Charles glances at him, then glances again — he’s a handsome man, with a sharp, straight nose, beautiful green eyes, and a jawline that could probably cut stone. His suit fits him neatly, obviously not bespoke but form-fitting enough. A businessman perhaps, or a lawyer. Charles takes a couple of seconds to admire him before turning to fill out the next order.

The line is so long that it takes nearly ten minutes for the man with the purple tie to make it to the counter, and when he finally does, he snaps out an impatient, “Large coffee, black,” before turning his attention back to the phone in his hands.

 _Rude_ , Charles thinks, but he keeps the thought trapped in his own head, behind his shields. Aloud he says pleasantly, “Can I get a name?”

“Eric.”  

Charles scribbles it down onto the cup and hands it off to Sean the barista, who, despite having been working nonstop for the last two hours, still looks as chill and relaxed as ever. Charles, on the other hand, is sure he looks harried and beleaguered; wading through the cloud of everyone’s impatience and irritation at being stuck in line just stresses Charles out and gives him a headache.  

Purple Tie takes his coffee and disappears, and that’s the last Charles thinks of him for the next two days. But on Wednesday, the man reappears in line and says, “Large coffee, black,” and adds with a hint of annoyance, “It’s Erik with a ‘k.’”

“Mhhm,” Charles says, only half-listening as he scribbles it down on the cup. He can be forgiven for being distracted: he’s hungry, having skipped lunch, and he’s trying to decide if they have the right lab equipment for Hank’s thesis work or if they’ll have to order new stuff. So when, five minutes later, he catches the man glaring at him over the counter, he realizes he’d spelled it  _Eric_  again.

“Sorry,” he mouths, but the man just glowers and sweeps out the door. Bloody  _rude_ , Charles thinks crossly. It had been an honest mistake.

“Wow,” Sean says. “Who shoved the stick up his ass?”

There’s no time to reply: the next customer is already giving her order, and Sean scurries off to make a frappe with two scoops of sugar and skim milk.

The next time Erik comes in, Charles suppresses an annoyed sigh, and when Erik growls, “It’s Erik with a  _‘k’_ ,” Charles smiles sweetly at him and writes  _Eric._

“With a  _‘k,’”_  Erik snaps the fourth time he comes in, and Charles says, “Sorry, I’ll get it right this time,” Sharpie poised above the plastic cup.

The look on Erik’s face when he receives his coffee is absolutely priceless. Charles stifles a laugh as Erik glowers at him over the counter and shakes the cup that reads  _Kric_ at him, but there’s no chance for Erik to complain when the line snaking from the register nearly reaches the door. Charles is almost disappointed when Erik leaves without a word; he’d been looking forward to saying innocently, “What? You said with a  _‘k.’”_

On Saturday, Erik enters and, after standing in line for five minutes, reaches the counter. For the first time, the first words out of his mouth aren’t, “Large coffee, black.” They’re: “Good morning, Carlos.”

Charles frowns down at his nametag. No, it’s definitely not smudged or illegible. “It’s Charles,” he says as he writes  _Kric_  on a large cup.

“Thank you, Carlos,” Erik says blithely as he takes his receipt, then moves to collect his coffee, leaving Charles to stare bemusedly after him.

His game is obvious by the next time he comes in. “Good afternoon, Churros,” he says, and Charles nearly chokes. It takes him a moment to recover, but he manages to say, “Good afternoon,  _Kric_ ,” with a relatively straight face.

To his surprise, amusement flashes through Erik’s eyes fleetingly before he moves to the other counter to wait for his coffee. Charles realizes with an odd jolt that he’s actually looking forward to the next time Erik comes in. He always provides brief entertainment in an otherwise hectic, tedious day.

On Sunday afternoon, the shop is miraculously not as frenzied as usual. Charles has a full five minutes to catch his breath and carefully shore up his mental shields before the bell of the front door rings. Biting back a groan, Charles turns toward the counter with a smile that turns more genuine when he sees that it’s Erik.

“The usual,” Erik says, studying the pastries in the display case. After a moment, he says, “And a blueberry muffin please, Chaco.”

Charles snorts so hard it hurts. “ _Chaco?_ Really?”

He has to admit, Erik’s mask of innocence is seamless. “What?”

“You know what,  _Kric_ ,” Charles says, rolling his eyes. “Anything else with that?”

Erik shakes his head. “Just that.”

A moment later, a group of high school students pour into the shop, and Charles has to turn away to sort out their orders. They’re too busy laughing and joking with each other to hurry, and Charles tries not to be impatient as he asks for their names and if they want receipts. By the time he finishes with them though, Erik’s already gone.

Then he realizes that the blueberry muffin is still sitting on the counter. He’s half-tempted to reach out with his telepathy, find Erik, and call him back, but that’s far too intrusive, especially for a man he hardly knows. Charles picks up the muffin, then frowns at the napkin sitting underneath it.

 _For Carson_ , it says in neat, slanted script.  _I can always hear your stomach growling._

Charles laughs, oddly touched. How completely unexpected.

That stupid grin seems to cling to his face for the next couple of days, and when Erik appears on Wednesday, the smile Charles greets him with is warm and pleased. After he processes Erik’s order and swipes his credit card, Charles says quietly, “Thank you for the muffin.”

Erik smiles back but doesn’t say anything as he shifts over to the other side of the counter to wait for Sean to deliver his coffee to him. A little disappointed, Charles forces himself not to look over at him; instead, he smiles politely at the next customer and asks her how her day’s been.

A few minutes later, he realizes Erik hasn’t just taken his coffee and left as usual; he’s sitting at one of the small round tables by the window, watching Charles work. Curious, Charles tilts his head questioningly, and Erik lifts two fingers from his coffee cup in a wave. A shallow brush across Erik’s mind shows Charles enough to let him know that Erik’s definitely waiting for him. For what, Charles has no idea.

Impatient now, he speeds through the line, cutting his usual pleasantries short. Once the last customer has been served, he waves Alex out from the kitchen to take over the register for a moment, then wipes his hands on his apron before rounding the counter and walking over to where Erik’s sitting.

“Hi,” he says, a bit uncertainly.

“Hi,” Erik returns. It’s gratifying to see that Erik’s nervous as well — he’s picking restlessly at the lid of his cup, and he has to clear his throat before speaking again. “I was wondering if I could buy you a real meal sometime. Not just a muffin.”

Charles isn’t entirely surprised by this turn of events — after all, he’s well aware that they’ve been flirting these last couple of weeks — but it still takes a moment before he can pull himself together enough to reply. Heart pounding, he smiles and says, “I’d like that.”

They exchange numbers, and Erik laughs when Charles shows him that he’s saved him in his phone as _Kric._ Erik retaliates with  _Chuck_ , and Charles can’t stop grinning as he puts his phone away. He wants to take the seat across from Erik and keep talking, talk until the day’s over, but the bell at the front door summons him back to the counter, and he contents himself with exchanging smiles with Erik until Erik finishes his coffee and leaves.  

That night he receives a text from Kric reading:  _dinner at my place tomorrow at 7? I’m cooking._

Charles smiles and texts back,  _Yes_.

 

* * *

 

THREE YEARS LATER

“Are you sure you can keep my name straight in your wedding vows tomorrow?” Erik asks, peppering kisses all over Charles’s back.

“Only if you can,” Charles retorts, arching up into his touch.

“I don’t know,” Erik teases. “It’s kind of hard to remember.”

“Right. And how do you spell yours again? With a ‘t’?”

He laughs when Erik grinds down against him and bites lightly at his shoulder. They fumble the rest of their clothes off and make love slowly, drowsily. Afterwards, Charles kisses Erik slow and deep, radiating love and contentment. Erik buries his face against Charles’s shoulder and makes a noise that’s almost a purr when Charles pets his hair.

“I love you, Erik,” Charles says softly. “Erik with a ‘k.’”  

Erik huffs a laugh, and Charles can feel him rolling his eyes, even as he presses a kiss to the skin above Charles’s heart. “I love you, too, Charles.”

 


	3. another undercover cops AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles mistakes Erik for a paying customer, detective Erik mistakes undercover cop Charles for an actual prostitute.

Erik doesn’t finish up his business in Midtown until nearly ten at night, long after he thought he’d be done. He’d skipped dinner to make the trip over here, and now his stomach growls unhappily as he makes his way back to his car. It’s a twenty-minute drive back to his apartment, and he’s almost a hundred percent sure he doesn’t even have anything to eat there. Damned wild goose chase, he thinks sullenly, clenching his fists in his jacket pockets. He’s going to take Alex to task tomorrow for sending him all the way out here on nothing more than unsubstantiated hearsay.

He’s just crossing the intersection of Madison and East 51st when he spots the boy across the street. He’s leaning down to peer into the passenger window of a beat-up blue sedan, his ass stretched tight in skinny jeans, his shirt barely covering his midriff. After a minute, he leans back out of the window and stands up. “All right,” he says, accented voice carrying on the breeze that stirs up trash lining the curb. “Pity.”

As the car drives off, Erik finishes crossing the street and heads for the kid, eyeing him carefully. Not too skinny, like some of the prostitutes that can be found lurking in these parts. Lean, small, compact, with a sweet face and a mouth that could tempt a saint to sin. This boy must make a killing on the streets, Erik thinks as he nears. He’s certainly pretty enough.

The kid’s gaze alights on him, and that red mouth curves up in a smile. “Hello.”

“Hi,” Erik says, allowing himself to smile back.

Encouraged, the boy draws closer, hips swaying slightly. “Are you looking for company, mister?”

“What kind?” Erik replies.

The boy laughs gently. “I think you know what kind.”

Erik pretends to think for a moment, then asks, “How much?”

One slight shoulder lifts in a shrug. “Depends. What do you want to do?”

Erik lets his eyes run down the boy’s body, assessing. There’s a lithe strength in his frame, in the muscles of his bare arms. He’s attractive, there’s no denying that, and Erik  _is_  attracted. If only they’d met in daylight in a coffee shop somewhere.

“Say, everything,” Erik answers.

“A hundred.”

Erik raises an eyebrow. “A hundred?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Hmm,” Erik says, as if he’s considering. He reaches for his belt and pulls out his pair of handcuffs. “How about these instead?”

For a moment, the boy just stares uncomprehendingly at them, as if he can’t imagine why Erik would be carrying them around or why he’d offer them. “Kinky,” he says finally. “It’s an extra thirty if you want to tie me up.”

Erik stares back at him. The kid can’t actually be this dense…? But there’s no trace of alarm on his face, only a bit of confusion, and Erik has to say, “I’m not looking to tie you up. You’re under arrest,” before surprise and realization set in.

“You’re arresting me?” the boy asks, astonished. And then, to Erik’s shock, he begins to laugh.

“What?” Erik says irritably. “You think facing jail time is funny?”

The boy shakes his head, radiating amusement. “I’m sorry, my friend, but — well, this is awkward.” He reaches into the pocket of his painfully tight jeans and pulls out his wallet. When he flips it open, a badge gleams inside.

Erik stares at it in bewilderment, then back up at the boy’s face. “What?”

“I’m a cop,” the kid says. “Same as you.”

“You can’t be a day older than seventeen,” Erik says blankly.

The kid — the cop? — laughs again. “I’m twenty-two.”

“Then why are you — ” Erik splutters. “Why are you dressed like — ” He gestures wordlessly.

“I’m undercover,” the cop replies. “To catch people like you. Or, I suppose, not exactly like you.”

Erik continues to goggle at him disbelievingly until the boy finally says, “I’m Officer Charles Xavier, of the 18th Precinct. You can call my captain if you don’t believe me, though I imagine she won’t be pleased to be woken up this late.” After a pause, he adds, “I suppose I should’ve asked for your badge.”

“Yeah,” Erik says, “you should’ve.” He fishes his own badge out of his jacket pocket and flashes it. “Detective Erik Lehnsherr.”

“I’m new to this,” Xavier says with a careless smile. “Only just graduated from the academy. Pleased to meet you, Detective.”

Still a bit dazed, Erik shakes his hand. As he does, his stomach gives a particularly loud growl of displeasure, and he flushes, even as Xavier smiles. “Long day?”  

“Yeah.”

“Do you like Chinese?”

“What?”

“There’s a place right down the street,” Xavier explains. “It’s one of my favorites.”

Chinese  _does_  sound heavenly at the moment. Erik nods, and Xavier jerks his head toward the intersection. “Excellent. I’ll take you.”

“You aren’t working?”

“I haven’t had dinner either,” Xavier says. “I can take half an hour.”

Why not? It’s not as if Erik has anything better to do tonight, and he’ll have to get food before he heads home anyway. “Okay. Lead the way.”

Xavier beams.

 


	4. post break-up reconciliation AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> seven months after splitting up, Charles has to confront his feelings for Erik again.

“This place has turned into a dump,” Raven said, wrinkling her nose as she eyed the living room. “How long has it been since you’ve touched a vacuum cleaner? Or even  _seen_  one, for that matter?”

“Oh, shove off,” Charles replied as he set about putting the kettle on the stove. “You know I get busy. As long as I can still get around, it’s fine.”

Raven shot him a skeptical look. “Are you sure you can still get around?” She nudged a stack of pizza boxes beside the couch with her toe and watched it lean precariously. “Do you even know what a trash can is?”

“I didn’t invite you over so you could judge my cleaning habits.”  

“What cleaning habits? And you didn’t invite me over, I invited myself over.”

“For the free food, no doubt,” Charles muttered. He poked through the pantry in search of any snacks to offer, but the shelves were sadly bare. He’d thought he’d have at least a box of Cheerios left, but apparently it had been longer between grocery store visits than he’d thought. Bugger.

“Life of a broke college student,” Raven said, flopping down onto the couch. “You wouldn’t believe what meal plans cost these days.”

“I’ve heard a few things from my students.” There was nothing that could really qualify as edible in the fridge either. Charles looked at the expiration date on the half-full gallon of milk and winced. Maybe that was source of the sour smell that had been permeating the kitchen for the last few days. “How do you feel about ordering in?”

“As long as you’re paying.”

“When do I not?”

They called for Chinese, and then Charles tidied up the seriously overburdened coffee table while Raven hunted around for the remote control for the TV. “How do you find anything around here?” she groused. “Honestly it’s like you’ve completely let go since Erik left.”

Charles’s heart squeezed. It had been seven goddamned months, and still his heart squeezed. “Not _completely_ ,” he said, fighting to keep his voice light. “You should see the bedroom. Immaculate.”

“I highly doubt that.”

It wasn’t a total lie: one side of the room  _was_  immaculate. Charles still hadn’t been able to bring himself to fill Erik’s side of the room — and it was still  _Erik’s_ , even though none of Erik’s things were there anymore. It was silly — he didn’t owe Erik anything, and their split had been mutual, even healthy — but every time he tried to move something onto the dresser that used to be Erik’s or put things in Erik’s side of the closet, it felt a little like a betrayal.

“Aha!” Raven snatched up the remote from underneath a pile of old magazines. “Gotcha.” She turned on the TV and switched over to Netflix. “What do you want to watch?”

“Whatever you want.”

When the kettle began to whistle, Charles wheeled himself around the coffee table to the kitchen. By the time he’d made tea for two and scrounged up a handful of crumbling digestives, Raven had pulled up  _Law and Order_  and was shuffling through a bunch of newspapers Charles had mangled in search of the crosswords. “Is your new boytoy fine with living in this trash heap?”

“What new boytoy?”

“You know. That guy who took you to the museum a couple of weeks ago. The one with the flip phone.”

“Oh, it’s over. We just didn’t click.” Phillip had been nice, but he’d been painfully boring. After listening to him ramble on and on about what kind of nice weather he’d seen at the golf course over the weekend, Charles had decided to break it off as kindly as possible.

‘“We just didn’t click,’” Raven mimicked, her imitation of his voice eerily perfect as always. “Charles, you’ve seen like, five guys in the last month alone. Are you even trying to get over Erik?”

His eyes narrowed. “Of course I am. What do you think I’m doing?”

“I think you’re lying around being a total slob when you should be picking yourself up and moving on. Come on, Charles, it’s been seven months.”

“Yeah,” he said, temper flaring, “and Erik was my  _husband_. Still  _is_  my husband. Kind of hard to get over that.”

They stared at each other for a moment. Then Raven sighed and said, “Sorry. I just don’t want you to be moping over Erik forever, okay? I want you to be happy. I mean, Erik’s…well.”

An image flashed through her head: Erik at an unfamiliar café sitting across from a tall, dark-haired man Charles didn’t recognize. They were sitting close enough for their knees to touch, and Erik was smiling that gentle smile he had once reserved only for Charles. The sharp pang of hot jealousy that shot through Charles’s chest felt like a bullet to the heart.  

He wasn’t sure what expression he was wearing, but Raven’s eyes widened in horror. “Shit. Tell me you didn’t see that.”

“See what?” he asked, his voice a bit strangled.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “You weren’t supposed to know about that. I’m sorry.”

“Know what? That my husband is happily dating someone else?” Charles smoothed a hand restlessly down his trousers. “It’s fine. It’s good. I mean, we agreed to separate, and we agreed it would be all right to date other people. I mean,  _I’ve_  been dating other people, for Christ’s sake, it would be hypocritical of me to feel —to be jealous. I just didn’t think — ”

And that was the root of it, wasn’t it? He hadn’t thought it would feel like this to know Erik had followed through and was with someone else. Was  _happy_  with someone else. Charles had tried dating soon after they’d separated, lonely and mildly depressed and craving companionship. He would have stopped immediately if Erik had asked him to, would have waited until after they divorced to date again. But Erik hadn’t said anything, and they’d both said they were okay with exploring other options while they ironed out the details of their divorce, which was even now still nebulous. And Charles  _had_ been okay with it, or he’d thought he’d be okay with it, but he hadn’t expected to feel so suddenly, immediately shitty to know that Erik was moving on.

“I’m sorry,” Raven said again helplessly. “I wasn’t going to tell you because I knew it would just send you on a spiral. Azazel and I were out last weekend and we saw Erik and…his friend.”

“His boyfriend,” Charles corrected bitterly. Then he scrubbed his hand over his face with a groan, angry at himself for being angry. “Fuck. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. I’m supposed to be  _happy_ he’s moving on. It’s good for both of us. We separated for a reason. This is progress.”

Raven nodded in encouragement and tried a smile. “That’s a good way to think of it.”

“Yes,” Charles continued valiantly. “This is good. I always felt a little guilty dating when he wasn’t, but now that he’s found someone else, I can, too.”

Raven’s smile widened. “That’s the spirit! Now you can get all sappy and gross with someone else. By next week, I bet you won’t even remember Erik’s name.”

Charles smiled back at her, and evidently it was convincing enough because she turned back to  _Law and Order_  and started to tell him about a new girl she’d met at the campus library. Dinner arrived shortly, and they watched  _The Fifth Element_  and laughed through the best parts, and afterwards, Raven refrigerated the leftovers even though he tried to make her take them (“Believe me, Charles, you need this even more than I do, and that’s saying something”) before letting him walk her to the door.

“You should come over to my place next time,” Raven said as she shrugged on her coat. “My roommates are gone next weekend. Saturday?”

“Are you buying?”

“Psh, no. Bring your wallet.”

Smiling fondly, Charles bade her goodbye and shut the door. But almost as soon as she was gone, the lingering cheer of her company vanished, too, and he sat there for a long moment, leaning his forehead against the door.

Erik was dating someone else. Erik was moving on. No doubt Erik would want to actually get moving on the divorce proceedings now, and soon they would be ex-husbands, ex-lovers, ex-everything.

This wasn’t a new concept, but for some reason it hurt acutely now, like a fishhook digging up under Charles’s heart. Maybe the idea hadn’t been exactly real before, but it was certainly real now.

He wheeled to the kitchen and dug out the bottle of whiskey that he sipped from whenever he was feeling particularly melancholy. A little alcohol would take the edge off the sharp, unexpected pain.

Two hours later, the bottle was empty, as were three cans of god-awful beer and the last of the tequila that Erik had forgotten when he’d moved out. Hiccoughing, Charles was digging sloppily through the fridge wondering where the hell all the food was when he remembered that Erik was always the one who stocked the fridge and if anyone knew where to get things to eat, it was Erik.

It took him three tries to unlock his phone, and then he got sidetracked trying to turn the volume down on the TV because it was hurting his head. Finally he managed to hit call and leaned his head drowsily against the phone as it rang. 

“Hello?”

“Erik! Hi!”

“Charles?”

Charles beamed. “Yes. Hi. I called because the fridge is empty, and you always deal with the fridge. There’s some Chinese, but I already had that tonight and I want something else but there isn’t anything else.”

“Charles, are you drunk?”

“Yes!” he crowed. “There’s also spoiled milk, but I’m not  _that_  drunk.”

There was a pause, then: “Why don’t you ask Raven to bring you something tomorrow?”

“She was already here. Just here. Just left. Or she left a while ago. I don’t know. What time is it?”

“It’s 12:40.”

“Holy  _shit!_  I have class tomorrow!” He felt a brief flash of panic that vanished as quickly as it had come. “It’s okay. I’ll play hooky.”

“Charles, you’re the professor. Professors can’t play hooky.”

“Why not? I’ll call in sick. I’ll be sick. I think I’m going to be sick anyway.”

A sigh rattled down the line. “Sounds like it. Look, just go to bed and call Columbia in the morning, okay?”

“Okay,” Charles said happily. “You’re the smartest, Erik.”

Erik huffed. “Go to sleep before you — ”

“Erik, who’s that?”

It was a man’s husky, sleep-rough voice, followed by the unmistakable rustle of bedsheets. Charles felt as if someone had just dumped a bucket of ice water over his head.

“I need to go,” he said, his voice suddenly shaking.

“Charles?”

He hung up and wheeled himself straight to the bathroom, where he threw up twice. Then he sat there for an interminable amount of time, feeling like someone had hollowed out his insides and replaced them with cold lead. Erik was with someone. They were sleeping together. They were sharing a bed. Erik was with someone, and it wasn’t Charles. The thoughts circled round and round in his head until he felt dizzy with despair.

Eventually he pushed himself to the bedroom and tried to pull himself into bed. Halfway there, his hand slipped on the covers, and he crashed to the floor, smacking his palms painfully against the wood to break his fall. At that point, it seemed like a better idea to just lay his head down there than to try to get up, so he closed his eyes and promptly fell asleep.

He woke up to someone shaking his shoulder and shouting. “Charles? Charles! Can you hear me? Charles!”

He groaned. “Please don’t shout.”

“Thank God! You scared the shit out of me, you asshole.”

That was Erik’s voice. Confused, Charles cracked an eye open and found Erik sitting next to him on the floor, his face pale and his hair as unruly as it always was when Erik rolled out of bed without combing it. “What are you doing here?”

“I came running over when you didn’t pick up your fucking phone,” Erik said irritably. “You’re always stupid when you’re drunk, and I was worried that — I was worried.”

“Well I’m fine,” Charles said with a surge of resentment. “You can run off back home now to your new boyfriend.”

Surprise rippled across the surface of Erik’s mind. “You…heard?”

“I saw. In Raven’s head.” Charles turned his face toward the bed so he didn’t have to look at Erik’s face. “Well off you go then. I’m sure he’s worried about you being out this late.”

“Don’t you want to get off the floor first?”

“I don’t need your help,” Charles snapped. “Just  _go_. You have someone else to worry about now.”

“Wait a minute,” Erik said slowly. “Are you  _jealous?”_

 _Of course not,_  Charles meant to say.  _Of course I’m not jealous, you’re moving on, I’m moving on, the world keeps turning just like it’s supposed to, and life continues. Congratulations, hope you’re happy, now can I please go to bed?_ But what burst out instead was, “Yes, of course I’m fucking jealous, you’re my bloody husband and I love you!”

Neither of them said anything for a shocked minute. Then Erik said hesitantly, “Charles — ” but Charles turned his face away again and hissed, “Go home, Erik.”

“You can’t say something like that and expect me to just walk away!”

“I can and I will,” Charles said stubbornly.

“I’m not leaving.”

“I’ll  _make_  you leave.”

“I’m not  _leaving,”_  Erik repeated, “until you tell me the truth.”

“What truth?”

Erik’s impatience chafed like a cat’s tongue against Charles’s skin. “You know what truth. When we separated, you said you didn’t love me anymore. You said our marriage wasn’t working and that — that we should get a divorce and move on. And now you’re saying…”

Charles’s chest hurt, and he couldn’t tell if it was because of the alcohol or because his heart really was cracking. He knew that if he started speaking, he wouldn’t be able to stop, but he opened his mouth anyway because he couldn’t keep it in. “I thought I didn’t. We never talked anymore, we barely saw each other at home, we never went out on dates or did anything we used to do. We were fighting all the time, and I thought — I thought it would be easier if we just ended it. Easier for both of us. But I was wrong — it’s been so much harder than I thought it would be, and I hate that you left me and I hate that I made you. And now you’re dating someone else and I know I should be happy for you, but I can’t. And that makes me the biggest hypocrite in the world because I’ve been dating other people, too, and you haven’t cared at all.”

“You thought I didn’t care?” Erik asked roughly, incredulously. “You think I didn’t want to storm every date you had and tell them to get the fuck away from you? I was so fucking jealous I couldn’t see straight sometimes, but I didn’t do anything because I thought that was what you wanted. I thought you were really done with me.”

In that moment at last, Charles saw how much he’d fucked up and really, truly hated himself. “I guess that’s on me then. I was stupid and I pushed you away because I thought I knew what was best for both of us, and now we’re…now I’ve lost you and I — I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do.”

He felt Erik’s hand tugging at him, and he didn’t fight them. He didn’t think he was sober enough to fight them even if he wanted to, so he just let it happen, let Erik wind his arms around him and let his head fall into the crook of Erik’s neck where it had always fit comfortably.  

“You haven’t lost me,” Erik said softly.

“What?”

“You haven’t lost me.”

“But…” That didn’t make sense. Erik was moving on. Charles had seen it. “You’re dating someone,” Charles said with difficulty. “Raven saw you — ”

“Raven saw us on our second date,” Erik cut in. “And last night was the first time we — it was the first time. The only time.”

Charles couldn’t help it — later he would blame the alcohol, because if he’d been sober he’d never have asked so mortifying a question as: “Was he any good?”

“No,” Erik admitted, “he was terrible.”

The only thing Charles could do then was burst into giggles, which made Erik smile, too, then chuckle. They sat on the floor of the bedroom and laughed until they cried, until they were exhausted, and then Charles leaned his forehead against Erik’s shoulder and murmured, “I miss you a lot.”

Erik’s chest shuddered with a trembling breath. “I’ve missed you more.”

That didn’t fix everything — it barely fixed anything, really — but a knot in Charles’s chest that he hadn’t even realized was there began to loosen, and for the first time in a long time, he thought everything might turn out all right.


	5. waiter/restaurant patron AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As a waiter at the restaurant Charles frequents, Erik has watched Charles go through a series of disappointing dates. Tonight is the night he finally does something about it.

Charles arrives exactly ten minutes before seven p.m., whereupon the maître d’ shows him to his usual table and wishes him a pleasant evening. Tonight he’s wearing a charcoal gray suit complemented by a navy blue tie and gorgeous silver cufflinks that sing out to Erik like wind chimes on a breeze. He’s as immaculate as always, his hair combed neatly back and his jaw clean-shaven and scrubbed. Erik takes a long moment to admire him from his wait station before heading over with two menus and a cup of Earl Grey tea.

Charles favors him with a sunny smile as he approaches. “Hello, Erik. How are things?”

“The same as always,” Erik replies as he sets one menu in front of Charles and the other in front of the empty chair across from him. Then he slides the cup over. “Your tea.”

“Thank you.” Charles sips at it, swallows, and beams. “Perfect. I swear, you make the best tea in Manhattan.”

Erik smiles. “I’ve had a lot of practice.” Ever since Charles has taken to frequenting Shaw’s, Erik’s made more tea than he’s made in the last twenty-two years of his life. He’s gotten rather good at it.

“The regular for you tonight?” he asks, flipping open his notepad. His pen he summons to his hand with the metal clip around its cap.  

“Oh, perhaps not.” Charles opens his menu and scans his gaze down the first section. “I’m thinking of being a bit adventurous tonight. What do you recommend?”

“Today’s special is the smoked trout.”

“Mm,” Charles hums appreciatively. He worries his bottom lip for a moment, and Erik can’t keep his eyes from fixing on the movement. Charles’s white teeth contrast starkly against his red lips. Does he wear lipstick? That’s the eternal question Erik grapples with every time Charles comes in, along with _Who’s the asshole date today?_ and  _How long will it take before Charles gets bored of him?_  Charles’s lips are just too red to be real, too lush and vibrant and painfully, utterly distracting —

He’s so  unfocused that it takes him a couple of seconds to realize that Charles has kept speaking. “…wine suggestion to match…Erik? Erik?”

He gives himself a violent mental shake and redirects his eyes to his notepad.  _Don’t fucking stare._ “Yes?”

“I asked if you had a suggestion for wine,” Charles says, his eyes bright with amusement. “You have a better idea of proper wine pairings than I do.”

Erik clears his throat, hoping Charles hadn’t overheard anything. “A dry Riesling would do. Or a Pinot Gris.”  

Charles considers for a moment, then shuts his menu. “The Riesling please, Erik, but hold off on my order until my date arrives.”

Erik quashes the unreasonable surge of jealousy that always rears up at the mention of Charles’s dates and dips his head in agreement. “Of course.”

He lurks around for the next five minutes, refilling waters and clearing plates. Seven p.m. comes and goes, at which point Erik resolves to hate Charles’s company tonight as much as he’s hated all the men who have come before him because Charles should never be kept waiting. Though he tries not to hover, he swings by Charles’s table several times to check if his tea needs to be warmed, if he’d like any appetizers, if he wants an extra blanket because tonight is particularly cold and Erik knows Charles likes to be bundled up in his wheelchair, especially when it’s drafty.

It isn’t until seven twenty that a tall, thin man strolls casually through the front doors, sheds his pea coat at the coat check, and glances slowly around the restaurant. Erik pays him little attention until it’s clear that the maître d’ is leading him over to Charles’s table — then Erik straightens, his eyes narrowing.

“Sorry I’m late,” the man says as he seats himself, sounding not at all sorry. “Traffic.”

 _What the fuck kind of excuse is that?_ Erik seethes, but Charles just smiles and says, “It’s quite bad, isn’t it? Probably because of the rain. I’m glad you made it safely.”

Erik heads over, notepad in hand. “Something to drink, sir?” he asks the new arrival.

He collects their orders and sweeps off. Over his next few visits to their table (and by loitering nearby, clearing off the closest table much more slowly and carefully than necessary), he learns that the date’s name is Mark, that Mark is a stock broker for some fancy firm in the Upper West Side with an ampersand in its name, and that Mark and Charles do not belong together in any way, shape, or form. For one thing, Mark is a human, which is always a sticking point for Erik but annoyingly not for Charles. But Mark isn’t even polite about it like most of the humans Charles tries to date are; he wrinkles his nose when Charles starts talking mutant politics and only just manages to hide his discomfort when Charles reveals that he’s a telepath.  _Asshole,_ Erik chants in his head as he wipes down the table next to theirs.  _Asshole, asshole, asshole._

For another thing, Mark clearly doesn’t even want to be here, so Erik can’t fathom why both he and Charles are pretending otherwise. They make faltering, stilted conversation, mostly facilitated by Charles rambling on and on. Erik could listen in rapt fascination as Charles read an instruction manual, but Mark looks wildly bored even as Charles tries to be his most engaging. At one point he even glances pointedly at his watch, and Erik has to resist the urge to trip and upend an entire tray of soup on his head. The  _nerve_  of the bastard, to be so rude to  _Charles_ , of all the fucking people in the world —  _Charles_ , who tutors at-risk mutant school children in his free time, who adopted a nine-year-old, one-eyed cat that was about to be put down, who’s probably the reason the goddamned sun rises every morning instead of saying fuck it and abandoning humankind to everlasting darkness. Teeth gritted, Erik has to return to the wait station and crumple a few coins in his fist to keep from breaking the asshole’s wrist with his expensive watch.

Eventually they stumble their way to dessert, which Mark refuses. Staring critically at Charles’s oversized piece of strawberry cheesecake, he launches into a scathing diatribe about America’s culture of overindulgence and luxury, which Erik thinks is really rich because he can feel every link of Mark’s five-thousand-dollar watch. It’s the most the guy’s talked all night, and with every word, Erik watches Charles grow less and less interested in both the conversation and his dessert. More than once, he glances over at Erik with a helpless expression on his face that seems to say,  _Please get me the hell out of here._

Unable to resist going over, Erik takes a pitcher of ice water and refills Mark’s glass. As he does, a short, heavyset man tries to squeeze past behind him and jostles his arm just a bit, enough for some of the water to slosh out onto the tablecloth. None of it actually reaches Mark, but he still jerks back with a curse and a glare and snaps, “Be careful, you idiot.”

“Don’t speak to him like that,” Charles says sharply. “It was just an accident.”

Mark snorts. “I’ll speak to him however I want. He’s a fucking waiter, not the king of England.”

Before Erik can say anything, Charles lays his fork down very slowly and says, “You will apologize to Erik or you will leave.”

Mark stares at him as if he’d suggested they lick Erik’s boots. “What?”  

Charles’s eyes narrow. “I  _said_ , you will apologize to Erik for snapping at him or you will leave.” Almost snidely, he adds, “Do you need me to speak more slowly?”  

At that, Mark stiffens, his spine quivering ramrod straight. His lip curling derisively, he sneers, “No. I won’t apologize for asking for  _decent_  service around here. And I don’t take orders from crippled _muties_.”

Erik’s moving before he’s even really made the decision to. He doesn’t even bother feigning a trip, he just pours the entire pitcher of ice water directly into the asshole’s lap, watching with vicious satisfaction as Mark leaps up yelping like a cat that’s fallen into the bathtub. “What the fuck!” Mark shrieks, wild-eyed. “What the fuck was that? I’m going to get you fucking  _fired_ , do you hear me? I’m going tofucking  _bury_ you, you motherfu — ”

“Sit down,” Charles says firmly. “You’re making a scene.”

Mark’s eyes go glassy, and noise stops coming out of his mouth. Blankly, he sits, and Charles says to the rest of the restaurant, “There’s nothing to see here, please return to your meals.”

Everyone turns back to their tables, and conversation resumes as if nothing had happened. As Erik’s gaping at Charles’s casual display of power, Charles leans forward and says to Mark, “I agreed to go out with you tonight because you are my mother’s friend and she insisted that I play nice with you. But I’m afraid that if you can’t be civil with me or with my friends, then I can’t bring myself to be civil to you. So, to save us both some time, how about you pay for dinner and then take yourself home for the night?”

Erik has no idea what Charles is saying to him mentally, but Mark is pale as a sheet as he pulls out his wallet and tosses a handful of twenties onto the table. Then he gets up unsteadily without a word and walks directly out of the restaurant, not even bothering to collect his coat.

“I’m sorry about that,” Charles says, shoulders slumping as he rubs at his temples. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“What are you sorry for?” Erik asks, a bit star-struck. “That was amazing.”

Charles huffs a laugh and peeks up at Erik through his hands. “You know what was amazing? You dumping that entire pitcher all over his Armani suit.”

“I swear that was an accident.”

Now Charles gives a real laugh. “Oh, I’m absolutely certain it was.” His eyes are bright with good humor for the first time since Mark sat down. “Thank you for that.”

Erik shrugs and starts to collect Mark’s half-finished plates to keep from having to look at Charles, because he’s sure his feelings are written all over his face. “Just try not to bring another asshole around next time.”

“I was thinking…” Charles toys with his fork for a moment. “Perhaps I could ask  _you_  to dinner next time?”  

Erik freezes. At his deer-in-headlights look, Charles backtracks hastily. “I mean, as friends, or acquaintances, or as whatever you’d like — really, I’d just like to thank you for always being kind to me and — well — ”

It takes several seconds for Erik to find his voice, and then several more for him to find his courage. “And if…” he says slowly. “If I’d like you to take me out for real? Like on a date?”

The smile Charles gives him then is so incandescent that Erik is nearly struck dizzy just looking at it. “Then I’d say we were on the same page.”

Erik’s so dazed that it takes him three tries to collect everything on the table and stumble back to the kitchen, and by the time he’s done that and run around servicing the other tables he’s been neglecting, Charles is getting ready to leave. Erik hurriedly finishes delivering the orders to Table 3 and then rushes over as Charles starts to wheel away from his table.

“Um,” Erik says, and fucking of  _course_ now’s the perfect time for his tongue to forget how to work. “I — ”

After a couple of agonizing seconds, he just digs his phone out of his back pocket and holds it out. Charles takes it, inputs his number, and hands it back, purposefully brushing his fingers against Erik’s as he does. “When do you get off?” he asks.

“Eleven.”

Charles smiles. “I’ll call you then.”

Erik hopes his returning smile isn’t too frighteningly eager. “I look forward to it.”


	6. charles hangs out with lorna AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Lorna gets jealous of Charles taking up Erik's time, Charles devises a way to get on her good side.

“Lorna!” Erik shouted. When no reply came, he stuck his head out of his room and yelled, “Lorna, come here!”

Normally he’d be able to track her around the apartment by her metal bracelet, but she’d taken it off, as she always did when she was cross with him. Sighing, he finished knotting his tie, took one last look at his reflection in the mirror, and went to look for her.

After several minutes, he finally located her in one of the kitchen cabinets, curled up beside the sink pipes. She was getting more and more creative with her hiding places lately, but thankfully she was starting to get big enough that she didn’t fit in tiny spaces anymore. Small mercies.

“There you are,” he huffed. “Are you going to come out? Kitty will be here any minute.”

Lorna glared stubbornly at her knees. The sink pipes next to her rattled, a movement imperceptible to most but all-too-noticeable to Erik. He stilled the metal gently with a touch and said, “You have to come out, Lorna. Don’t you like it when Kitty comes over?”

“No,” Lorna muttered. “I hate Kitty.” 

“You don’t mean that. You love Kitty. She reads books to you whenever you want and lets you stay up past your bedtime. Don’t think I don’t know about that.”

He gave her a wry smile, but Lorna wasn’t having it. She just curled up tighter, her long green hair hiding her face. Heart sinking, Erik sat down on the ground next to her, wanting to reach out but knowing she’d only get more upset if he did. The last couple of times he’d left, she’d been resistant, but she hadn’t been openly angry like this. He should have known it would only get worse.

He tried to coax her out, but by the time the doorbell rang, Lorna still hadn’t budged. Sighing, Erik got up to let Kitty in.

“Hey,” she said in greeting, stripping off her coat. “Nice tie. Charles will like it.”

Erik glanced down at it. “You think so?”

“I know so.” Kitty grinned. “Come on, Charles likes you in _anything_. He’s a sucker for you.”

Erik’s face warmed. He hid it by turning away to pull his coat off the coatrack and said, “Lorna’s in the kitchen. She’s being…difficult.”

“Difficult?”

“Well, she’s under the sink and she won’t come out.” Erik tugged on his coat and sighed. “I tried talking to her, but she won’t listen to me. Do something please? She loves you.”

Kitty nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

“Good.” Erik grabbed his keys and his scarf. “I have to go, I’m already late. And if anything happens,  _call me_. Especially if she throws a tantrum. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Kitty saluted him. “Will do.”

Even rushing through the trains, Erik still arrived ten minutes late. Panting, he pushed his way into the restaurant, waved vaguely at the waiter who asked him how many were in his party, and sought out the distinct signature of Charles’s chair. In the last five months, he’d gotten very familiar with the metal of Charles’s wheelchair, from the tops of the handles down to the smallest bolt. He found it with ease now and let it pull him to a table in a cozy corner, where Charles sat perusing a laminated menu.

“Sorry I’m late,” Erik said as he slid into the chair opposite him. “Lorna was being…troublesome.”

Charles frowned. “Is everything all right?”

“She’s fine. It’s just…”

Erik hesitated. It was difficult dating as a single father. He never wanted Lorna to feel like a burden, but he was always afraid that that was how his partners saw her, which was why he usually held off on introducing them. The instant he got a hint that his date considered his daughter something to be merely  _tolerated_ , he dropped them in an instant. But Charles was different. Charles had taken Lorna in stride, had been eager to meet her and perfectly pleasant and charming when Erik had introduced them. Lorna had liked him at first, called him funny and laughed at his dorky jokes. But that was before Lorna had realized that Charles was sticking around, that it wasn’t going to be just her and Papa anymore. It was a problem they’d have to address soon, but Erik didn’t want to scare Charles off by bringing it up. It felt like he’d be asking him to commit to something big, and they’d barely been dating for two months.

“Erik, just tell me,” Charles said, his eyes gentle and concerned.

Erik heaved a sigh. “She’s jealous. Of you and me.”

Charles blinked. “Jealous?”

“She doesn’t like that I’m spending so much time with you. For as long as she’s known, it’s always just me and her, and now there’s you and she’s not taking it very well.”

“Oh.” Understanding dawned in Charles’s eyes. “She thinks I’m taking you away from her.”

“I have been spending a lot of time with you.”

“Yes. Hmm.” Charles set the menu aside, his frown deepening. “What can I do? The last thing I want is to get in the way between you and Lorna.”

“That’s the last thing I want, too. I mean, I’ve dated people before, but she’s never been like this with them.” He pressed his lips together. “It was never serious with them.”

Charles gave him a brief, warm smile and then sat back, his brow crinkling in consideration. “Perhaps I should spend some time with her? One on one?”

“Doing what?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Charles drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair for a moment. Then his expression lit up. “Why don’t I take her to see the new Star Wars movie? You mentioned she wanted to go, but you haven’t had time to take her.”

“But you’ve seen it already.”  

“So?” Charles waved a dismissive hand. “It was excellent. I’d love to see it again.”

“Really?” Erik gave him a skeptical look. “You’d really want to spend time with my daughter, one on one?”

“Of course,” Charles said with plain honesty. “She’s important to you, Erik. That means she’s important to me.”

“I—” It was suddenly difficult to speak past the lump in his throat. Embarrassed, Erik coughed and said lowly, “I really love you, you know?”

Charles smiled, his eyes soft. “I love you, too.”

 

*

 

They set the date for that Sunday. Lorna wasn’t too pleased to hear she’d be hanging out with Charles for a few hours, but when she learned where he planned to take her, she brightened considerably.

“Where’s my lightsaber?” she demanded, running around the house as Erik packed her bag. “And my cloak!”

“Your cloak’s hanging in the hall, and you left your lightsaber on your dresser,” Erik told her. As she dashed off, he stuck a couple of fruit snacks into her bag, just in case she got hungry on the way. This was the first time she was going out with someone other than Edie, and Erik couldn’t deny that he was nervous about it. He trusted Charles completely, but this was his daughter. What if something happened? What if Lorna lost control and Erik wasn’t there to calm her down?  

Trying to stamp down on the worry, he double-checked her bag, then triple-checked it. As he went to fetch Lorna’s shoes, the doorbell rang.

“Hello, darling,” Charles said when he opened the door. He was warmly bundled up in his coat, scarf, and fluffy hat, looking adorably cozy. When Erik bent down for a kiss, Charles whispered, “You all right? I could feel your anxiety from all the way down the hall.”  

“Fine,” Erik murmured. “Come inside. Lorna! Charles is here!”

After a moment, Lorna came rushing out, her eyes sparkling. She had her Star Wars t-shirt on, her lightsaber in hand, and her bag slung over her shoulder. “Ready!”

“Say hi to Charles,” Erik prompted her.

Lorna gave him a shy look. “Hi, Charles.”

“Hello, Lorna.” Charles smiled. “I like your hair.”

She touched her green braids, curled round above her ears Princess Leia style. “Thanks. Papa did them.”

Charles shot Erik an appraising glance. “Very nice.”

“I Googled it,” Erik muttered. He didn’t want to admit how long he’d spent looking up tutorials for it. The delighted look on Lorna’s face when he’d done up her braids had been well worth it. “Anyway, go on. You’ll be late.”

“We can’t have that, can we?” Charles nodded at the door. “I have a cab waiting for us downstairs. Ready to go, Lorna?”

“Ready!”

“Call me if anything happens,” Erik said lowly. He grabbed Charles’s hand and squeezed it, hoping Charles would catch how serious he was.  _“Anything.”_

Charles patted his hand. “Of course. Don’t worry about us, we’ll have fun. Won’t we, Lorna?”

“We’re going to be  _late!”_  she exclaimed. “Come on!”

Without further ado, they disappeared out the door. Erik tracked them as they rode the elevator to the first floor, then loaded into the cab. He followed them as far as the street corner and then forced himself to let go. They’d be fine.

For the next few hours, he lounged around, watched some TV, and read some of  _All the Light We Cannot See_. It was strange, not having to keep some of his attention on Lorna at all times. As always, the first couple of hours without her around were peaceful and relaxing, like a welcome respite after constantly treading water. But eventually the apartment began to feel quiet and lonely, and Erik roamed around restlessly, searching for something to do. He didn’t really know how to be alone anymore. He’d had Lorna with him for too long.

When Charles’s wheelchair finally appeared on the edge of his awareness, he hurried to the door, throwing it open before the elevator at the end of the hall had fully opened. He breathed a little easier when Lorna came bursting out and smiled when he saw that she was swinging her lightsaber and yelling, so hyped up she was nearly bouncing off the walls.

“That good, huh?” he asked, stepping into the hall.

“PAPA!” Lorna yelled, barreling toward him. “It was  _so good!_ You should have come! Rey! _REY!”_

“Rey?”

“Her new favorite character ever,” Charles replied, amused. He came wheeling behind her, eyes gleaming.

“Ever!” Lorna shouted in agreement.  _“Ever!”_

“Okay,” Erik laughed, ushering her into the apartment. “Go inside before you disturb the neighbors.”

She dashed past him, still swinging her lightsaber and yelling delightedly. Turning to Charles, Erik asked, “How was she? Not too much to handle, I hope.”

Charles smiled. “She was lovely. A bit of a handful but nothing too bad. We had fun.” He glanced around Erik into the apartment and then lowered his voice. “We went to get ice cream afterwards. I told her it’d be our little secret, but I figured you should know.”

Erik sighed and shook his head fondly. “Now she’ll be up for another hour at least. But I bet she loves you now.”  

“I dearly hope so.” Charles yawned. “I should get home. It’s getting late.”

“Yeah.” Erik hesitated a moment, then opened the door wider. “Do you want to stay over? It’s late.”

They’d never slept over at each other’s places before. It was a step forward, one that had Erik holding his breath as he waited for an answer.

“I…” Charles bit his lip. “Is that all right? I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

Erik exhaled with a grin. “No, please. I’m sure Lorna would love to have you stay over and talk Star Wars with her all night long.”

Charles grinned, too. “Well, I wouldn’t mind staying up with her to talk Star Wars. There’s so much to discuss after all. And maybe later when she’s gone to bed maybe we can talk, too?” He reached up and squeezed Erik’s hand, winking. “Just us?”  

Erik groaned softly. “Don’t tease.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Charles said innocently, wheeling himself in.

Erik closed the door behind him and went to fetch Lorna a glass of warm milk before bed. A moment later, he heard Charles speaking, followed by Lorna’s shrieking laughter. The sound made him smile, a warm, soft feeling burgeoning in his chest. It seemed like everything was going to be all right.  

 


	7. another post break-up reconciliation AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles is determined to prove he can face his ex. His ex is oddly interested in facing him back.

Charles fussed restlessly at his cufflinks as he sat in front of the mirror and gave his reflection a critical look. He wasn’t sure he liked the red tie, but at least it was different from his usual look. He wanted to seem as far from his normal self as possible, just to prove that he was all right. To show that Erik wasn’t the only one who had moved on. Perhaps choosing a contrary tie color wasn’t the best of statements, but it was as much as Charles could manage at the moment. Besides, it wasn’t even a sure bet that Erik would show up. He didn’t even celebrate Christmas, so Charles figured the chances of their running into each other at Tony Stark’s Christmas gala were reasonably low.

Still, he went with the red tie, and good thing, too: he had only been chatting with Moira by the refreshment table for a few minutes before his eye snagged on a tall, arresting figure coming in through the doors and his breath caught in his chest. Erik looked  _good_ , damn him. Utterly striking with his tuxedo, neat bowtie, hair combed sharply, and clean-shaven jaw, Erik looked exactly as Charles remembered him, well put-together and aloof. No,  _better_  than Charles remembered him—he was actually smiling as he came in, just slightly but it was a smile all the same, and there was a girl on his arm, young and bright-eyed and gorgeous in a long black dress that accented her curves beautifully. Charles stared at them for a long, frozen moment, then pulled his chair back so that he was partially hidden behind Moira.

Moira cut off mid-sentence and followed his gaze. When she saw Erik, her mouth pinched in sympathy. “You want to go somewhere else? I’m sure Stark has a few secret nooks and crannies we can find.”

“Yes,” Charles started to say, but then defiance shot down his spine and he remembered he’d come here to prove a point, as much to Erik as to himself. He could do this. People faced their exes all the time. Charles wasn’t about to turn tail and run; that would mean letting Erik win.

“No,” he said instead. “I’m fine.” He cleared his throat and picked up the glass of champagne he’d set down on the table. “Where were we?”  

For the next thirty minutes, Charles made a valiant effort of ignoring Erik, but it was impossible to escape the fact that he was in the room. Unbidden, Charles’s mind sought Erik’s out, touching on its edges but never pushing far enough that Erik would notice. That was one of the curses of Charles’s telepathy: his power always latched onto what was familiar, noticing such minds first and focusing on them most often because it was comfortable. That meant that he could feel Erik moving around the room, keeping to the sides and corners because Erik was never sociable. For a while, Charles pretended Erik didn’t exist, but it became gradually apparent that Erik was moving inexorably in his direction. Charles focused entirely on Moira’s face and very pointedly did not look, even when he felt Erik come to a stop directly beside him.

Moira, bless her, continued talking as if Erik were invisible. “—but I told him to shove his excuses up his ass, of course, because workplace sexism is a very real thing and all he was doing was upholding the status quo. And then what do you think he did?”

“He fired you?” Charles guessed with some amusement.

“He wishes he could have! But he didn’t count on the fact that our boss—a very nice lady, I might add—overheard everything, all his misogynistic remarks, and  _she_  fired  _him_  on the spot. And that’s the minute I started believing in karma.” Moira waved her empty champagne glass around and added, “Let’s go see if we can flag down a waiter. I’m going to need alcohol if Stark’s going to make an entrance like he always does.”

“I’ll come with you,” Erik said. “I want a glass as well.”

Moira stopped and looked directly at him. “I’m not sure if you’re welcome here.”

Erik’s gaze felt like a tangible weight against the side of Charles’s face. “Am I?”

“It makes no difference to me,” Charles said coolly, putting his hands on his wheels. “Come on, Moira, there’s a fellow over there.”

They swapped their empty champagne glasses for full ones. Charles drank half of his in one swallow and continued to stare down into it as they all stood together for a couple of minutes in tense, awful silence. At least Erik’s date seemed to have wandered off somewhere. Charles wasn’t sure he would have been able to stand watching the two of them interact.

They were silent for so long that Charles actually jumped a little in his chair when Erik spoke. “Aren’t you going to say hello?”

“Hello, Erik,” Charles said politely, not quite looking in his direction. “How are you?”

“Good. Busy.” Erik’s gaze swept down to his chest. “That’s a nice tie.”

“Thank you. I think it suits me.”

“It does,” Erik murmured, in a gentle way that had Charles glancing at him in confusion. Erik’s gaze was warm, almost unguarded, almost as if he was  _asking_  Charles to peek into his mind. But Charles stubbornly kept his telepathy wrapped up because why would Erik want him in his head? They’d hardly parted on amiable terms. One of the last things Erik had said to him was an icy command to  _stay out_.

Charles swallowed. “I wasn’t sure…I didn’t think you’d come. You hate parties.”

Erik shrugged. “Kitty didn’t want to be the only Jew at a Christmas party so she asked me to come with her.”

So the date had a name. Charles hoped he sounded uninterested when he said, “Kitty?”  

“Kitty Pryde. She’s interning in Engineering. Bright kid. Her mutation is something you’d like, too.”

“Oh, she’s a mutant?” No wonder Erik liked her.

“Yes. She’s thinking about coming to work for Stark full-time after she graduates. She’ll be a good addition to my team.”

“That’s nice.”

The conversation might have lapsed into a natural lull there, but Erik seemed eager to continue talking. “How about you? How’s school?”

“Good. I finished grading things on Thursday, so I’m off for a couple of weeks.” Charles toyed with the stem of his champagne glass. “Nothing much to report, I’m afraid. It’s nothing you haven’t heard.”

“And how’s Raven?”

“Good. She’s coming into town for Christmas.” With some difficulty, Charles added, “You should meet up with her. She’d like that probably.” The two of them had been friends before Erik had ever been Charles’s boyfriend. Part of Charles had suspected—and still did suspect—that Erik and Raven might have been something  _more_  than friends at some point. But it didn’t matter anymore. He didn’t have any reason to be jealous, certainly not of his own sister.

“I’ll give her a call then,” Erik said.

“Do that.”

Before either of them could say anything more, a new voice interjected. “Everyone having a good time over here?”

It was Erik’s date, her cheeks rosy with champagne and her eyes sparkling in the dazzling lights of the room. She squeezed into the group between Erik and Moira and glanced around. “This place is awesome, isn’t it? Man, Stark goes all out.”  

“He spares no expense,” Charles agrees. “Kitty, is it?”

Kitty grinned. “Erik told you about me?” She shook his hand. “Kitty Pryde. And you must be Charles.”

“Erik told you about  _me?”_ Charles asked with some surprise. When he glanced at Erik, Erik glanced away.

“Only a little.” Kitty gave him a bright smile, then turned to Moira. “Hi. I’m Kitty Pryde.”

Moira shook her hand. “Moira MacTaggert.”

“MacTaggert. That’s a pretty cool name. Scottish, right?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve always wanted to go to Scotland. Have you ever been?”

“Three or four times.”

“That’s so cool!” Kitty grinned. “Hey, listen, do you think you could show me where the ladies’ room is? I’ve been looking forever and I can’t find it.”

“Sure,” Moira said slowly, obviously bemused by Kitty’s enthusiasm. She placed a hand on Charles’s shoulder and murmured, “Charles, will you be all right?”

“Fine,” Charles said breezily, even though his heart seized at the thought of being alone with Erik. “Go ahead.”  

Kitty took Moira’s arm and walked her off into the crowd, and then it was just Charles and Erik. For a minute, Erik didn’t say anything, and Charles just ran his finger along the edge of his armrest, feeling out the scratch on the cushion. The silence was nearly unbearable; Charles had half a mind to just mutter an excuse and wheel away to escape the awkwardness. But if Erik could endure it, then Charles could, too, so he sat there and pretended his heart wasn’t pounding unsteadily against his ribs.  

“So,” Erik said finally, “where is Stark anyway?”

“How should I know?”

“You’re his friend.”

Charles snorted. “That doesn’t mean I’m aware of his whereabouts at all times. The day Tony shows up to an event on time is the day I’ll walk again.”

Erik’s lips twitched up in a smile. “True.” He glanced upward. “No skylight for him to crash through. No helicopter pad either. He’ll have to get creative.”

Despite himself, Charles laughed. “Never underestimate Tony Stark. He’ll find a way to make his entrance memorable.” Their college days together could be summed up with the words ‘booze,’ ‘house parties,’ ‘not  _again_ , Tony,’ and ‘what  _now_ , Tony.’ If there was anything he learned from rooming with Tony Stark for three years, it was that Tony was never short on surprises.

He was proven right not ten minutes later: evidently Pepper hadn’t been able to convince Tony not to take his Iron Man suit for a spin at every single opportunity because he burst in through the front doors, blasting Iron Maiden as he swooped dangerously low over the gasping crowd. Almost everyone at the gala knew Tony personally, so they cried out less in alarm than in surprise and delight. Several people yanked out their phones to record him, and Tony, ever the crowd pleaser, hovered in mid-flight and struck several poses for them.

“I wonder how long it’ll take him to stop being ridiculous and come down,” Charles mused, raising his voice to be heard over the music.

Erik flexed his hand. “I could make him come down if you wanted.”

Charles laughed. “Now  _that_  would be a surprise.”

Erik smiled. In the next moment Tony landed squarely in the middle of the crowd to thunderous applause, and everyone turned to face him. Charles was starting to set his hands on his wheels when he felt Erik’s hand at the top of his spine, his broad palm resting just on Charles’s collar. It was an absent gesture, one Erik always used to make when he was directing Charles’s attention to something. He was pressing against Charles’s nape now, nudging him into turning toward Tony like everyone else, but Charles was too stunned by his touch to move. After a moment, Erik looked down, seemed to realize where his hand was, and froze.

For a few seconds, neither of them moved. They only stared at each other, eyes wide and uncertain. Then Erik withdrew his hand with a muttered, “Sorry,” and Charles swallowed hard, trying to tell himself he didn’t miss the weight of Erik’s hand at his back. He tried to focus on whatever Tony was saying, but the buzzing in his ears drowned out everything else. Why did Erik have to  _do_  that? Charles had been completely over him.  _Completely_ …and now all he could think about was how warm Erik’s hand was, how perfectly it had once fit into his own.

_Damn_  the man.

As soon as Tony’s show had concluded, Charles said curtly, “Follow me,” and wheeled past the crowd, out one of the side doors, and into a secluded hallway. As soon as he knew they were alone, he hissed, “What are you doing?”

To his credit, Erik managed to look largely innocent. “What?”

“Coming to this party—you knew I’d be here, didn’t you? And Kitty’s playing your wingman, isn’t she? I highly doubt it’s taken Moira all this time to find the bathroom. And that—that—” He gestured vaguely to where Erik had touched him. “What’s your game here, Erik?”

Erik stared at him for a long moment. Then he smiled helplessly. “You’re far too intuitive for your own good, you know that?”

Charles ignored how young and endearing Erik looked, smiling like that. “What’s going on? What are you doing here?”

“I’m trying to win you back,” Erik said simply. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Charles gaped at him. Yes, it had been obvious—he’d been giving off the right signals after all—but that wasn’t an answer Charles had expected. “But…” he spluttered. “ _Why?”_

“Because…” Erik visibly steeled himself. “Because I was hasty. We both were. We had our problems, of course we did, but all couples do.”

“I think our problems ran considerably deeper than the problems of most couples,” Charles pointed out. Still, he couldn’t deny that his pulse was picking up in anticipation—in hope.

“Yes,” Erik agreed. “But…” He knelt and took Charles’s hand, squeezing it gently. “For the last ninety-two days, I’ve gone to bed alone, and every night, I wished you were with me. Every night. Not a day went by that I didn’t miss you. We had our problems and we’ll keep having them, but you’re worth it. That’s what our breakup taught me. You’re worth it to me.” He looked up, searching Charles’s gaze. “Am I worth it to you?”

Charles thought of all the nights he had spent sleepless, staring at Erik’s side of the bed. He thought of how lonely it was watching Netflix and eating Thai food alone. He thought of the single toothbrush in the bathroom, of the half-empty bookshelf, of the kitchen that had gone quiet once Erik had left. He thought of the ache in his heart when he thought of Erik with someone else, the ache when he thought of Erik at all. He thought about this stupid red tie he’d worn today in hopes of proving to Erik that he was over him.

“I missed you,” he whispered through the lump in his throat. “A lot.”

Erik’s eyes widened. His mind—no, his entire  _body_  seemed to tremble with hope. “Can we try again?”

Charles squeezed his hand tight and smiled, his heart fluttering in his chest. “I would like nothing more.”  

 


	8. medieval fantasy AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exiled Prince Charles and soldier Erik stage a coup against corrupt Regent Shaw.

That night, there was no moon. Erik had seen it rising briefly at dusk, but storm clouds had soon obscured it from view, leaving a black, unmoving darkness. Erik stoked the fire higher and watched as it chased back the shadows. Then he went to unlatch the balcony doors. It was too cold to leave them open, but he cracked them, just enough so that a little light slipped through.

Nothing would happen, he told himself, as he did every moonless night. No one was coming.

But only ten minutes later, he felt the familiar press of warmth against his mind, and the balcony doors pushed open further, enough to admit a cloaked figure, dripping rain from his hood.

“Don’t,” Erik said as his visitor stepped toward the carpet. “You’ll leave a mess.” He got up from the stool by the hearth and fetched a towel.

“Thank you,” Charles said, smiling as he tossed back his hood. Underneath, his hair was damp and curling, making him look even more boyish than he usually did. He took the towel from Erik and wiped his face before scrubbing vigorously at his hair.

When he straightened again, Erik couldn’t help but smile. “Here—” He smoothed down the unruly mess of Charles’s wet hair and then ran his fingers down to Charles’s jaw. Charles nudged against his touch, mouth brushing Erik’s palm, and Erik took a deep breath before withdrawing his hand. Business first, pleasure later.

“I haven’t gathered much since last time,” Erik said, moving to fix them drinks. He poured himself a generous amount but went sparingly on Charles’s glass. After all, Charles would be navigating the security of the castle later; he’d need all his wits about him to elude Shaw’s men. Bringing the glass over to Charles, he added, “Has Moira said anything?”

“Only that her people will be ready whenever you give them a time and place.” Charles raised his glass to Erik before drinking from it. “Everything hinges on you now, Erik.”

Erik leaned against the mantel and sipped at his own drink. “Six days from now,” he said after a moment of consideration. “Shaw will be taking his friend the Duke of Blackwall on a hunting tour of the Royal Forest. I can arrange for security to be minimal. That will be our best chance.”

“Six days from now.” Charles took a shaky breath. “It’s hard to believe that this will all be over in less than a week.” He contemplated the fire for a moment before reaching out to take Erik’s hand. “It’s hard to believe that we can be together in less than a week. Openly, without fear.”

Erik swallowed and pulled away. When he threw back his drink and went to make another one, Charles frowned. “Erik? What’s wrong?”

_Nothing,_ he wanted to say. _Nothing important anyway_. But Charles would feel the pulse of regret and pain hiding under the surface of his thoughts. There was no point in hiding it.

“Six days from now.” He swallowed another mouthful of drink before continuing, and it burned a line down his throat. “You won’t be a rebel leader anymore, and I won’t be the Captain of the Regent’s Guard. You’ll be the prince—no, the _king_ —restored to the throne, and I’ll be…no one.”

“Erik.” Charles stared at him for a moment before setting his glass down and closing the distance between them, his hands rising to cup Erik’s face. “Don’t tell me you actually think that.”

“I don’t think it, it’s a fact.”

“Yes, I’ll be king,” Charles said with exasperation, “but you’ll hardly be no one. You’ll be the captain of _my_ guard, or my consort, or anything you’d like. Anything at all, Erik. I love you.”

“Don’t be foolish.” Erik twisted his face away from Charles’s touch. “You’ll be king. You’ll have responsibilities. You can’t keep me as your consort. You’ll have political alliances to build, princesses or princes to marry—”

“I won’t marry any prince or princess,” Charles said sharply. “If I’m to marry anyone, it’ll be you.” He scowled at Erik’s expression. “Don’t look at me like that, Erik, I’m hardly a naïve boy. I was groomed to be king since I was eight years old; I know how politics works. But there are other ways to secure alliances. I love you. My return to the throne won’t change that.”

“You say that now—”

“I’ll say it always,” Charles cut in fiercely. “Don’t argue about this with me, Erik.”

Erik closed his mouth. Six days from the end, and already Charles sounded like a king, cold and imperious. Erik supposed he had better start getting used to that.  

Charles caught the thought and went pale. “Erik, no. I will never—I don’t ever want you to feel as if I’m your superior, or that you’re my inferior. We’re equals, you and I. I will never feel…entitled to commanding you.”

“But you’ll be the king,” Erik said coolly, pretending the thought didn’t make his chest ache with the loss of this thing that they had now, this beautiful, imperfect thing that had given Erik new reason to live after his mother had died. “How can we be equals then?”

“Like this,” Charles said, and kissed him. Erik resisted for only a moment—then he pulled Charles close and kissed him back, hard and insistent. They had only a finite time left together, and Erik didn’t intend to waste any of it. He bit down hard on Charles’s lip until Charles cried out and stored that noise away for later, when he was alone again.

They made love on Erik’s bed in the dying firelight, panting and groaning and gasping in the darkness. Afterwards, Charles lay drowsing on Erik’s shoulder, his hand stroking gently down Erik’s arm.

“I love you,” he said softly. “In six days, I intend to make you mine forever.”

Erik closed his eyes and told himself he believed it.

 

*

 

Shaw had known they were coming. That was all Erik could think as he staggered bloody and soaked through out of the river, splinters of a broken arrow burning in his shoulder. Somehow Shaw had known the rebels’ plans, had lured them into a trap, and now a full third of Moira’s forces had been swept away by the river, and the rest were trapped in battle with Shaw’s guards. Shaw himself had melted into the shadows of the forest, but Erik could think of none of that. He could think of nothing except Charles, who had run after Shaw like a rabbit after a fox, brave and determined and _stupid_.

He stumbled past the fray and into the trees. Charles’s tracks were easy to follow: he was a prince, not an experienced woodsman, and he left a trail even a blind man could have found. Erik threw his metal-sense ahead, searching for any hint of him, but there was too much metal around, too many swords and arrowheads and armor and spears. It didn’t matter—soon enough, he heard shouting up ahead, and then a cry of pain that had his breath seizing in his chest.

“Charles!” he shouted, bursting through the trees. The scene before him froze him in his tracks: there was Shaw, his eyes hot with rage, his hand slick with blood. And at his feet lay Charles, sprawled and bloody and gasping in pain.

“There you are,” Shaw said calmly. He wiped his bloody hand on his shirt, his nose wrinkling in distaste. “I was beginning to wonder whether you’d drowned with the rest of them.”

Erik’s eyes remained fixed on Charles. If he was dying—if he was _dead_ —

Charles’s chest rose unsteadily, and Erik breathed again, the rush of air burning his throat. Shaw looked down at the prince and then smiled coldly at Erik. “Oh, don’t fret, he’s alive. For now.”

“If you touch him—” Erik snarled.

Shaw lifted his boot and set it down delicately on Charles’s exposed neck. Erik shut his mouth, hardly daring to make a sound. His heart felt like a runaway horse in his chest, thundering explosively and out of control.

“You thought I didn’t know?” Shaw said. “You thought I wouldn’t notice the captain of my guard, the boy I _raised_ , conspiring against me?”

“You didn’t raise me.”

“I considered you my _son!”_

“You considered me your weapon,” Erik snapped. “That was all. I was your trump card, your plaything. Nothing more.”

“And what do you think you are to _him?”_ Shaw pressed down with his boot, and Charles wheezed, one bloody hand flailing at his throat. “What did he promise you? Land? Gold? A title? You know as well as I that as soon as he was on the throne, he would have thrown you away. You’re nothing to him, Erik. You’re a _pawn_.”

_That’s not true._ Charles’s voice was weak in his head but it was there. _You know it’s not true, Erik, I love you._

Erik knew it, he did. There was nothing Shaw could say that could turn Erik’s heart—he’d already given it away to Charles long ago. But fear crept up in his chest now, cloying terror that stuck in his throat and stifled his thoughts. What could he do? Shaw would absorb any blow against him, and he had his circlet on, that damn circlet that protected him from mental attack. Most importantly, he had Charles underneath him, too close—if Erik so much as twitched in Shaw’s direction, he had no doubt that Shaw would not hesitate a second to snap Charles’s neck.

_The circlet, Erik_ , Charles whispered. _Get it off and we’ll stand a chance—we’ll fight him together—_

How? It wasn’t made of metal, not any part of it…

But it could be touched by metal. It could be lifted by metal.

With his power, Erik started to reach for the knife at his belt—then stopped. Shaw’s knife, that was better, closer and less conspicuous. It was small and sharp, the weapon Shaw used when he wanted to slit throats. Erik melted it carefully from its sheath, gently, imperceptibly, and snaked the metal up out of its confines.

“What?” Shaw smiled. “No begging? I thought for sure you would beg.”

“Would it make any difference?” Erik asked. He had lived under Shaw for eleven years. Not once had he seen the man show any mercy.

“No.” Shaw stepped off of Charles’s neck, leaving him choking for breath. “It wouldn’t. But I would have liked to see you on your knees, desperate. I suppose that I’ll let you die with dignity instead, for all the years you served me.” His smile turned malicious. “But first you’ll watch your pretty little prince die.”

He raised his boot, and Erik struck. The metal of the knife raced up to Shaw’s head, hooked under the circlet, close enough to scrape his skin—and for a moment Erik thought he might have bobbled it, that the metal had missed, but his aim was true: he felt the metal hook tug, and the circlet came off, gleaming as it spun through the air.

Shaw’s expression twisted in fury and then it froze. His hand was outstretched, his mouth open in a scream, and he was perfectly still.

“I have him,” Charles said raggedly. “Do it, Erik.”

Erik took the knife from his belt and gripped it in his hand. He walked over, pulse thudding in the soles of his feet. For a moment, he studied the lined face of the man who had saved him from his burning village, the man who had promised him shelter and safe haven, the man who had taken half his life from him. It felt odd to stand on the precipice of old and new. Of his past life and his future one.

He couldn’t think of any parting words. It would only add insult to injury, he thought, if he said nothing. It meant Shaw wasn’t even worth a goodbye, wasn’t even worth a last word. So Erik only thought, _You shouldn’t have touched Charles_ , before he raised the knife and drove it into Shaw’s heart, feeling the sharp point of it sink into warm skin and hot blood.

The light winked out of Shaw’s eyes, and he dropped as if a rock had struck him in the back of the head. For a moment Erik stood above him, bloody knife in hand, chest heaving with breath. Then he dropped the blade and fell to his knees, pulling Charles’s head into his lap. “Charles? Where are you hurt?” 

Charles’s eyes were glazed, and for a moment, Erik was terrified he wouldn’t respond. Then Charles rasped, with obvious difficulty, “I think he broke my leg.”

Erik looked down and saw Charles’s knee twisted at an odd angle. It was bad, would probably require surgery. He hoped McCoy hadn’t been killed in the skirmish. “Anywhere else?”

“My ribs. My back.” Charles grimaced. “Is ‘everywhere’ an acceptable answer?”

Erik laughed. The release of tension felt almost like an arrow shot to the gut, sharp and stunning. He cradled Charles in his arms, ignoring the pain in his shoulder, ignoring the warmth of Shaw’s blood soaking into the knees of his trousers.

“We did it,” he whispered. “We won.”

Charles’s hand grabbed his. “Yes, darling, we did.” He lifted Erik’s hand to his mouth and kissed it, holding on tight. “We’ll be all right now.”

And Erik believed him.


	9. hanukkah presents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles gives his favorite bartender a gift for Hanukkah.

Erik hated a lot of things about working at Shaw’s shitty bar, but Charles wasn’t one of them. Every Tuesday, he came in with a few friends for trivia night and usually stayed until eight or nine, during which he would flirt with girls and guys alike, make friends with everyone around him, and sometimes buy the whole bar drinks, which made him infinitely popular. He would laugh and sing and regale people with his stories, and at the end of the night, he would always smile at Erik, thank him, and leave a generous tip. Tuesdays had rapidly become Erik’s favorite night to work—if it weren’t for Charles and the fact that Erik had a daughter to support, Erik would’ve quit bartending here a long time ago.  

One cold evening Charles came in with a scarf, blue-and-white striped and several feet long. It was wrapped in tissue paper, and he handed it over the bar, careful not to let it touch the sticky bar top.

“It’s for you,” he said, smiling. “Happy Hanukkah.”

Erik stopped wiping glasses, brow furrowed. “What?”

“Hanukkah,” Charles said again. “You told me once you were Jewish. I Googled the dates this year and I figured…” He shrugged. “I wanted to get you something. I hope it’s all right.”

Erik stared at him, momentarily speechless. He’d told Charles about taking Lorna to the synagogue once, and Charles had remembered? Charles had thought of him, had brought him a _gift?_

Dazed, he said, “I didn’t think you’d remember.”

Charles smiled. “I have a very good memory. I also—” He rummaged around in the bag slung on the handle of his chair and came up with a small box covered with wrapping paper with dreidels on it. “I got something for Lorna, too. Just something small. I hope I’m not overstepping my bounds. I just thought…well.”

Erik’s throat stuck. Gratitude was not a feeling he was familiar with, but it swelled up in his chest now, thick and hot. He couldn’t think of anything to say, not a single thing.

Charles’s smile faltered slightly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have presumed—”

“No! I was just—I just wasn’t expecting anything like this.”

He smiled tentatively, hoping Charles could sense how much this actually meant to him. Charles’s own smile widened again, and he passed the scarf and the box over, leaning up out of his chair to do so. Erik took both of them carefully and then looked over at Charles, struggling to find something appropriate to say.

Charles pulled his chair back a pace. “I should get going. Happy Hanukkah, Erik.”

Erik nodded, his heart beating a little too fast in his chest. “Thank you.”

He watched Charles wheel away toward the door. At the last moment, an impulse seized him, and he hurried out from behind the bar and toward the door, using his powers to tug gently on Charles’s chair before he could leave.

“Do you, um—” Erik stared down at Charles breathlessly, his heart thumping hard in his chest. “Um. My shift ends in twenty minutes. Do you want to get dinner?”

Charles’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Well you don’t _have_ to—”

“Yes,” Charles blurted out. “Yes, Erik, I’d love to.”

Erik grinned, a light, heady feeling burgeoning in his chest. He felt a little like jumping up onto the nearest table and pumping his fist, but he thought that might scare Charles off. Instead he said, relatively calmly, “Okay. Yeah. Will you wait? I’ll just finish up.”

Wheeling himself back off the threshold of the door, Charles smiled, his cheeks pink with pleasure. “Of course.”  


	10. vampire charles AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Charles is killed, Erik betrays his own to get revenge. 
> 
> (no character death)

Erik killed William Stryker on a sunny Friday morning. It was warm. It was quiet. It was just past ten o’clock, and Erik had blood on his hands.

He’d killed many times before, but this was only the second time he had ever killed a human being. Stryker died slowly, his breath rattling out from the hole in his chest, his eyes dark and accusing, his mouth frozen in open-mouthed shock. Erik crouched beside him the whole time and listened to him wheeze until he stopped, and then everything was silent.

Erik had killed many times before, but this was the first time he wished he could resurrect his victim so he could do it again and again and again. But he knew it wouldn’t be enough. It would never be enough. He could shove his knife over and over into Stryker’s bony chest, and it would never bring Charles back. The thought made something sharp and painful hook in his chest, and he had to kneel there for a long minute to catch his breath.

Outside, a wind began to howl, kicking up dust and leaves. He cleaned his knife on Stryker’s trousers and slid it back into its sheath. Then he stepped through the broken front door, climbed onto his bike, and gunned it.

 

*

 

Stryker’s murder caught up to him two months later in the form of Alex Summers. One minute, Erik was dozing fitfully in an armchair, hat tilted over his face, and the next, the door of his motel room shattered open, the chain snapping off with the splintering of wood. Erik jerked awake and grabbed for his gun on the side table, lightning fast, and when he straightened, he realized he recognized the face behind the barrel pointed at his heart.

“Hi, Erik,” Alex said, his finger resting lightly on the trigger. “Long time no see.”

Erik aimed his own gun at Alex’s torso. “Who sent you?”

“You know who.”

He could think of only one name. “MacTaggert.”

“Bingo.”

Playing dumb would buy him some time. Keeping his sights trained squarely in the middle of Alex’s chest, he asked, “What’s she got you coming after me for?”

Alex snorted. “You know what for. Bill Stryker. You know him.”

“I’ve heard of him.”

“You killed him in June.” Alex’s mouth pinched. “Tell me you didn’t do it.”

Erik thought briefly about lying, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. They had to know why he’d done what he’d done, why he’d turned against their own. He ground his teeth together and said, “I had to.”

Disbelief and disappointment flashed across Alex’s face. “Why the fuck would you do that? Hunters don’t kill hunters!”

“You don’t understand,” Erik growled. “He killed Charles.”

At that, Alex went very pale, even as his mouth opened in a small ‘o’ of comprehension. For a long moment, neither of them moved; they stood frozen across from each other in the cramped motel room, guns pointed at each other’s hearts. Erik could feel his pulse hammering in his wrist, not rapidly but with enough force for him to feel it in his fingertips. He remembered the way Charles used to lay his head against Erik’s chest to listen to his heart beat, murmuring with delight, “I can’t believe this beautiful, brilliant thing is mine.” The memory made him ache with a grief that was still fresh and terrible.

At last, Alex lowered his weapon. He raised his free hand to wipe away the sweat that beaded against his eyebrow and said, “I’m sorry.”

“Am I being hunted now?” Erik asked, keeping his gun raised. “By the Guild?”

Alex shook his head. “No. Not officially. I heard about what happened and I asked Moira to give me the job personally. I wanted to come out here and see the truth for myself.”

“What are you going to tell her when you go back?”

“I don’t know.” Alex scrubbed a hand through his hair in agitation. “I don’t know. Fuck, man, you’ve made a mess.”

Outside there was a wail of sirens, and Erik glanced pointedly at the broken door. No doubt the neighbors had heard the commotions and called the cops, which meant they had about two minutes to clear out.

He could see Alex reach the same conclusion. The kid hesitated for a handful of seconds, stared hard at Erik, and then jammed his gun back into the holster at his belt.

“You’re letting me go?” Erik asked.

“I figure you’re not a danger to other hunters. If you wanted to kill me, you would’ve already pulled that trigger. And…” His voice dropped low. “Charles was my friend, too.”

_Charles was more than just my friend,_ Erik wanted to say, but Alex already knew that. Nearly everyone in the Guild knew that; it had forced Erik out onto the fringe of hunter society and burned more than one bridge. Now, he figured, he’d pretty much burned all the rest.  

“I’ll tell them I couldn’t find you,” Alex said as he backed out the door. “Keep your head low, man. Stryker’s friends are real pissed.”

Erik nodded his thanks. “Noted.”

He waited until Alex had disappeared from view before grabbing his bag from underneath the bed. It was already packed; he never bothered unpacking. A squinty-eyed man peered out from the window of the room next door as Erik passed, but other than that, he saw no one as he headed down the stairs to the parking lot where his bike sat.

By the time the first of the patrol cars pulled up to the motel, Erik was miles away.

 

*

 

He wandered. He scoured newspapers for clues and hunted because he didn’t know how to do anything else. Hunting had been his life ever since he was fourteen years old, and even though it was harder now, without the intelligence network of the Guild to guide him, he still found work. There was always work to do.

One month passed, then another. Sometimes he could pretend that everything was normal, that nothing had changed. A few times, he picked up his phone and dialed Charles’s number, and it was only after the voicemail kicked in that he remembered. He drank a lot, drank until he could hear Charles’s voice in his head saying, “That’s enough, Erik. Come to bed.”

But the bed was always empty.

 

*

 

He woke up one night with the feeling of cold metal pressed up underneath his chin. “Surprise, motherfucker,” whispered a gravelly voice. “Say hi to Bill for me.”

Erik grabbed the barrel of the gun and jerked it up just as it went off. The shot deafened him temporarily, but between that and the searing heat against his palm, he was reasonably sure he was still alive. The man above him let out a curse, and Erik bucked violently enough to knock him off. The motion ripped the gun out of his attacker’s hand, and Erik tried to spin it around but his burned hand fumbled it and it clattered to the ground. He grabbed instead for the gun underneath his pillow and rolled off the other side of the bed once it was in his uninjured hand.

For a moment, he couldn’t make out anything in the dark. Then the man shouted, “Come at me, you fucker!” and Erik raised his gun and fired three times. There was a shocked, gurgling sound, and then the thud of a body collapsing onto the carpeted floor.

Erik listened for a long few seconds, and when he heard nothing, he climbed back onto the bed and leaned over to switch on the lamp on the nightstand. On the floor lay a short, thin young man, almost a boy really, tan from the road and sporting a nasty scar over his eye. His eyes were open and sightless, blood seeping from the corner of his mouth. Erik had struck him square on in the chest.

The cops were probably already on their way. Erik shrugged on his shoulder holster and slid his gun into it before yanking on his leather jacket. He grabbed his bag, then hesitated. After a moment, he knelt by the body and patted it down. Maybe this kid hadn’t come alone. Maybe he’d have some contact info for his buddies, for anyone else who might come after Erik for Stryker’s death.

He found a battered copper badge in one jacket pocket bearing the image of a machete and a shotgun crossed to form an X — the Guild’s sigil. In the jacket’s other pocket was a half-finished box of cigarettes, a lighter, and a key.

Erik pocketed everything and picked up his bag. Somewhere in the distance, sirens began to wail.

 

*

 

The key led to a storage unit in Oregon. Erik turned it over and over in his hands and finally decided to follow the lead, because why the fuck not. It wasn’t as if he was doing anything better with his days.

He rode west for five days and pulled into the stretch of storage units just as dusk was setting in. There was a fence surrounding the complex, but Erik scaled it without much difficulty and dropped in over the other side.

The little green sticker dot on the key fob bore the number 391. The placard on the nearest unit said _198_ , so Erik started to walk, key in right hand, gun in left. He didn’t like shooting with his left as much as he did with his right, but it couldn’t be helped; grabbing the barrel had burned his right palm badly enough that it still hurt to close his hand tightly. He went down one row of squat storage buildings, peering at the placards, and turned left at the corner.

It took nearly fifteen minutes for him to locate Unit 391, but eventually there it was, lit dimly by the flickering lamppost standing at the head of the row, its orange door locked in place by a rusted Master lock. It was a hunter’s for sure: there was a line of salt in front of the entrance, faint and probably old but noticeable if you knew what to look for. For a moment, Erik laid his hand against the door and listened. Who knew what Stryker’s crony was hiding in here. Hunters collected the most random shit, most of it dangerous.

When nothing but silence greeted him, he unlocked the padlock and tucked the key into his pocket. Pulling out a penlight, he clicked it on and, gun half-raised, rolled the door up.

The storage unit was deeper than it was wide, and the front half of it was empty. But the light in Erik’s hand skated over a curtain drawn over the back half of the container, illuminating shadows behind it. Cautiously, he stepped into the unit and over to the curtain, listening. No sounds. Hand tightening around his weapon, he gripped the penlight between his teeth and used his free hand to yank the curtain aside.

First he saw boxes. Just cardboard boxes. Then he saw a table stacked high with folders and papers, and then, finally, he saw Charles.

He was lying strapped down to an examination table, deathly still. His skin was ashen, almost gray, and his normally blood-red lips were pale and chalky white. Not even his chest moved; he looked like a corpse.

Erik couldn’t feel his heart. He couldn’t feel his fingers, couldn’t feel his face. Everything in him was numb with shock, and for a moment, he just stood there, disbelieving, the gun in his hand trembling.

There was no stake. _There was no stake in Charles’s heart_ , and he was _here_ , he wasn’t a pile of ash somewhere, he was _alive_. Erik dropped the gun and nearly dropped the penlight as he rushed over, clumsy with haste. Charles’s skin was freezing to the touch, and he recoiled, momentarily thrown. But of course he was cold — no one had been here in probably weeks, maybe months, maybe since Stryker died, and so he hadn’t had anything to feed on. He was probably starving and his body had reverted to this dehydrated shell for protection, but he would wake up. If he had blood he would wake up.

Erik’s hand shook as he reached for the knife at his hip. He barely felt the pain as he sliced across his wrist, over the old scar from where he’d done this before. In his rush, he cut deeper than he meant to, but he couldn’t bring himself to care as he pressed his bleeding arm to Charles’s mouth, willing him to drink, to _wake up_.

He pushed his wrist against Charles’s teeth hard enough to hurt and long enough that he began to feel dizzy. And then finally — finally — Charles’s lips moved beneath his skin, and with a small, desperate gasp, Charles bit hungrily into his flesh. Erik swallowed a yelp of pain and held steady until his vision began to blur, until he knew he had to draw back before he passed out. When he wrenched his hand away, Charles let out a disappointed noise, and at last, at last, his eyes flickered open.

Erik had to brace himself against the wall behind him for a moment until the wooziness passed, but as soon as it did, he lurched forward again and cradled Charles’s head between his hands. “Charles? Can you hear me?”

Those beloved blue eyes fixed on him, and Charles said faintly, “Erik.” His face was still white and his skin was cold to the touch, but he was moving. He was _alive_.

A sob of relief and joy lodged in Erik’s throat for a long moment, and when he could speak again, his voice was thick and hoarse. “I thought you were dead. Stryker said he killed you.”

Charles swallowed once, then again. Then he croaked, “It was a near thing.”

A padlock held together the chains that strapped Charles down to the examination table, and Erik scoured around for the key. After a fruitless minute of searching, he found a bolt cutter behind a dusty old computer and cut the chains. Charles let out a weak noise as they fell away and then tried to sit up.

Erik caught him under his arm and pulled him upright. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Yes.” Already Charles’s voice was stronger, and some color was returning to his cheeks. He clutched at Erik’s jacket and pulled himself to Erik’s chest, breathing in deep. “I’m so glad you came. I was waiting…I wasn’t sure if you would find me…”

Erik tightened his arms around Charles. _I almost didn’t_ , he thought. _I thought you were dead_. It terrified him how close he had come to losing Charles forever. How lucky he was to have found the key to this storage unit at all.

“I almost lost you,” he said roughly, burying his nose into Charles’s hair. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”

Charles laughed weakly and pressed his face into Erik’s neck, hugging Erik tightly to him. “I won’t.”


	11. charles coping with the aftermath of his accident AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> written for the prompt "Please don't leave."

Charles found the brochures on Wednesday morning. He was searching for his old issues of _National Geographic_ in the storage closet when his fingers brushed something slim tucked in behind a box labeled CHRISTMAS LIGHTS, and, curious, he pulled it out. It was a cheap, unmarked folder, the type that cost ninety-seven cents when school supplies went on sale at Wal-Mart. When he opened it, a blinding neon orange flyer shouted FOR A LIMITED TIME ONLY at him, accompanied by several brochures and business cards, some of them covered in notes scrawled in Erik’s neat handwriting. Frowning, Charles pulled one of the brochures out and froze when he saw what it was.

A moment later, Erik shouted from somewhere in the apartment, “Charles, do you want toast with your eggs or no?”

Heart hammering, Charles slid the brochure back into the pocket and pushed the folder back behind the box of Christmas lights. He nearly clipped his already-bandaged fingers against the doorjamb as he backed out of the closet and hurried to the kitchen before Erik could come look for him.

“There you are,” Erik said as he wheeled into the kitchen. “What were you looking for?”

Erik must have felt his chair in the storage closet. Damned thing, Charles thought with a surge of bitterness. He couldn’t move anywhere anymore without drawing Erik’s attention immediately.

“Nothing important,” he said, hoping his shrug looked nonchalant. “Just old magazines. I thought I’d look for something new to read since I’ve already finished everything else on the bookshelf.”  

Erik poured a bowl of beaten eggs onto a skillet and watched them sizzle. “You could go to the library.”

Jaw clenching, Charles tugged at a loose thread on his sweater and said, “That’s all right. I have my laptop anyway; I’m sure I’ll find something to read.”

A hint of frustration escaped from Erik’s mind before he reeled it back in and smiled. It was the same smile he’d worn ever since Charles had come home from the hospital, patient and understanding and kind. Charles wanted suddenly to punch him right in the mouth, to knock that smile off him and shake him for pretending everything was okay when everything _wasn’t_.

“Okay,” Erik said placidly, because he always let Charles win the arguments ever since…since the accident. “Let me know if you find anything interesting.”

Charles gritted his teeth. “I will.”

They had breakfast in silence, Erik checking his emails on his phone, Charles staring at the orange juice at his hand and wondering how long it would take for the whole glass to make it through his system. An hour? Two? He’d had some water this morning, too, so if he drank this, he’d probably have to use the catheter sooner rather than later, and he wasn’t sure he had the strength to deal with that right now, or ever.

He had to fight back an unpleasant laugh. These were the kinds of fucking decisions he had to make these days. These were the kinds of decisions he’d have to make for the rest of his life, and on some days, that thought was crushing.

“I have a lunch meeting today, but I can cut it short,” Erik said as he finished the last bite of his toast and carried his plate over to the sink. “I’ll swing by and pick something up for you. Chinese?”

“Go to your lunch meeting,” Charles said, forcing his temper away. Erik meant well, _Erik meant well._ It was his new mantra. “I’ll survive one lunch without you.”

“Are you sure? Because it isn’t any trouble — ”

“I can take care of myself,” Charles snapped, clenching his fork in his fist. “Just because I can’t fucking walk anymore doesn’t mean I can’t make myself a fucking sandwich.”

Erik jerked back as if Charles had slapped him, but that veneer of steady calm didn’t waver. It never wavered, no matter what Charles said to him, or screamed at him. “Okay,” he said evenly. “I’ll see you after work then.”

He picked up his briefcase and leaned over to press a kiss to Charles’s forehead. Then he was gone out the front door, and all of Charles’s anger went with him.

He put his head in his hands for a while and tried to breathe through his fingers. Slow and steady, in and out. What the fuck was wrong with him? Erik was here. Erik was just trying to help. And here Charles was, ungrateful asshole, turning on him when all Erik deserved was profound gratitude.

_Gratitude for what?_ said the darker, more cynical part of Charles’s brain, the part that had been growing louder since the hospital. _For taking on your charity case? How fucking gallant of him._

He shook his head violently, like a horse tossing off a fly. Those were the kinds of poisonous thoughts that made him push Erik away, made him lash out and hurt Erik. And even through the abuse, Erik had stayed. Even though everyone wondered why the hell a nice, handsome young man like him would bother sticking around to tend to his now-crippled boyfriend, Erik had stayed, and that was what mattered. That was what _mattered_.

Charles tried to cling to the thought as he pulled out his laptop and opened up a handful of articles from _Nature Genetics_ he’d been meaning to read. But his attention kept wandering back to the brochures sitting in the back of the storage closet. The memory of them made his stomach churn, but ignoring them wasn’t very well going to make them disappear. It was a mercy that he’d found them now; at least he’d have time to prepare himself.

He glanced restlessly around the living room. He would have to say goodbye to the DVD player, he supposed. That was Erik’s, as was the TV, and the PS3, and at least half of the books on the shared bookcase that sat by the mantel. He would have to get used to microwave dinners again and making coffee for one and sleeping alone. Hopefully before Erik left, Charles could convince him to help him move everything in the apartment down a few cabinets so that they were in reach. Erik would do that for him, wouldn’t he?

Then he stopped himself. What the fuck was he doing? Planning for life post-Erik as if Erik had already moved out? The brochures were there, yes, but as far as Charles knew, Erik hadn’t signed anything yet. And Charles couldn’t let him go, not so easily, not without a fight.

He stewed in those thoughts all day long and came up with a list of reasons why Erik should stay. Charles was getting better every day. He could even shower by himself now, which cut his daily humiliation and frustration in half, which in turn kept him from taking his temper out on Erik as often as he used to. He was eating and drinking regularly again, and the post-injury depression that had clung to him like a thundercloud for months was no longer quite so powerful. He was getting out of bed willingly every morning and reading the paper and making tea and kissing Erik goodbye as Erik headed off to work. Things were getting _better_. It made him angry that Erik wanted to quit now.

By the time Erik got home, Charles had worked himself into enough of a sullen rage that Erik stopped immediately in the front hall and called out, “Charles?”

He knew his mood was leaking out all over the apartment and didn’t bother reining it in. “In the living room.”

A moment later, Erik appeared in the doorway, his brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

Charles opened his mouth to say, _I found the brochures_ , but suddenly the words wouldn’t come. Suddenly he was afraid of saying them, because saying them would make it all real. Saying them would mean acknowledging that Erik really was planning on leaving him, and the thought was so horrible and frightening that Charles couldn’t face it.

He said weakly, “Nothing. Just one of those days.”

Erik came over and laid the back of his hand against Charles’s forehead. “You aren’t coming down with something, are you?”

“No, I feel fine.”

“You had lunch?”

At the concern in Erik’s voice, irritation bloomed in him, and he welcomed it. Annoyance was better than heartache, better than grief. “Yes, I had lunch. I even made it myself, like a big boy.”

Erik ignored his caustic tone and ran his fingers through Charles’s hair. “What do you want for dinner then?”

Charles shrugged. “Whatever’s left in the fridge. Takeout. Whatever you want.”

“I could make lasagna.”

“We’ve had lasagna four times this week.”

“It’s your favorite.”

“Well I’m tired of it,” Charles snapped. “Make your own favorite.”

Erik drew back, anger flashing across his face for a moment before he managed to school his expression back into that patient, cool calmness. “Okay. I’ll figure something out.”

As he headed for the kitchen, Charles’s frustration leached away, leaving his stomach hollow and aching. God, why did he keep doing this? All Erik wanted to do was help, and Charles just kept shoving him away, just kept lashing out. No wonder Erik was leaving. He could only endure for so long — by all rights, he had endured for much longer than Charles had thought he would. And now he had reached the end of his rope, and he was going to leave. Charles had driven him away for the last time.

A sharp resignation filled him. What right did he have to ask Erik to stay? Erik deserved so much better. Erik deserved someone who would appreciate him, someone who wouldn’t use him as a scapegoat for all their problems. Erik deserved to be free.

“I ordered pizza,” Erik called. “It’ll be here in half an hour.”

Steeling himself, Charles gripped the arms of his chair tightly. “Erik, come in here for a moment, will you?” When Erik appeared, Charles nodded at the couch. “Sit down.”

His tone put Erik on edge. He sat, obviously worried. “Is everything okay?”

Charles took a deep breath. When he tried to speak, the words stuck in his throat so he cleared it and tried again. It felt like the hardest thing he’d ever had to say, but he pushed the words out: “I know you want to leave. And I want you to.”

The rush of shock that flooded Erik was impossible to mistake. Suddenly Charles wondered if he’d misread the entire situation, because it was clear that that was the last thing Erik had expected to hear.

“Wh — ” Standing, Erik shook his head, dazed. “What?”

Charles stared back at him, at a loss. Erik was supposed to say yes, and then Charles would tell him to go, graciously, and pretend it didn’t feel like he was ripping his own heart out and giving it away.

“I thought — the brochures. In the storage closet. The ones for the new apartment complex opening in Brooklyn.”

Erik’s eyes widened. “You found those?”

So they _were_ a secret, not some horrible fluke. Swallowing hard, Charles said, “I want you to go.”

Now Erik’s mind filled with confusion and hurt. “Charles…I thought we were okay. What brought this on?”

“I want you to go,” Charles continued as steadily as he could, “because I don’t want to hold you back anymore.”

“ _What?”_

“I’m awful to you!” Charles burst out. “All you’ve done for months and months is take care of me, and all I do is scream at you and shut you out and push you away. I don’t want to do that to you anymore. I don’t want to hurt you. And if you’re looking for a place in Brooklyn, then good, you should go, because I can’t stand being cruel to you. I love you too much to put you through that.”

Erik said nothing, just stared at him open-mouthed until Charles squirmed uncomfortably in his seat and said, “Please say something.”

“I…” Erik shook his head. “I just have one thing to say.”

Charles braced himself. “Okay.”  

“You are a huge fucking idiot.”

Charles winced, a bit confused but pretty certain he deserved that in some way. “All right.”

“I don’t want to move out,” Erik carried on. “The last thing I want to do is leave you. I fucking love you, and everything that’s happened in the last year hasn’t changed that.”

Stunned, Charles said, “But the brochures — ”

“Yeah, I’m looking for a new place in Brooklyn,” Erik said. “For _both_ of us. It was supposed to be a surprise. I went over there and looked and they have a wheelchair-accessible apartment that’s so much better than this one. I measured the doorways — you’ll actually be able to get into all the rooms, and the kitchen cabinets are all low enough for you to reach. Plus, we’ll be on the first floor so you won’t have to bother with elevators anymore. The one here only works half the time anyway and I know how much that frustrates you and…” He trailed off, eyebrows rising. “Don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying,” Charles said, wiping his eyes. “Just tearing up.”

Erik sat back down next to him and took his hand. “I’m sorry, I probably should have asked first. I just wanted to make sure everything was right before I told you about it, but if you really don’t want to move, then that’s okay, too. I know how much you always loved this apartment. We can make do and — ”

“Erik,” Charles said, “shut up.”

Erik shut up. Charles squeezed his hand for a long moment before saying, “I lied before, about wanting you to go. I tried to be selfless, but I’m really no good at it. You’re the best thing in my life, and I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you. Just…please, don’t leave.”

Erik leaned forward and pulled him into his arms. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his voice muffled in Charles’s hair. “I’m never going anywhere.”

It was a while before they drew back, and Erik pretended not to see Charles dragging his sleeve over his wet eyes. When he was sure his voice would come out steady, Charles said, “I’m sorry about being so awful to you lately. I swear I’ll try to be better.”

He could see a myriad of responses swirling behind Erik’s eyes, but in the end, Erik just kissed the corner of his mouth and said, “Thank you.”

Mustering up a smile, Charles nodded in the direction of the storage closet. “Can I have a look at our new apartment then?”

Erik grinned and squeezed his hand. “Of course.”  


	12. alex/darwin modern AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darwin finds Alex getting the living shit beat out of him and naturally has to step in.

In retrospect, Alex supposes there were several things he could have done differently. Ignore the heckling, for one thing. Keep walking, keep his head down, and pretend he was deaf. He probably shouldn’t have stopped and shouted back at them, and he probably shouldn’t have given them the finger. And when they sneered at him and said there was no way he could take them all on at once, he probably should’ve responded with anything other than, “Wanna bet?”

As it is, he’s now lying in the damp alley with his hands covering his head, getting the shit kicked out of him. Something in his jaw feels loose, a tooth probably, and his right hand is badly mangled from one of the assholes stamping down hard on it. Still, he glares up at them through his one good eye and takes vicious satisfaction in the fact that the ringleader has a broken nose and one of the others has two black eyes that are rapidly beginning to swell up.

The satisfaction is short-lived — another kick catches him hard in his already-bruised ribs, and he thinks he blacks out for a moment. One second he’s curled up in a ball trying to protect everything important, and the next, someone’s shaking his shoulder gently, saying, “Hey, can you hear me? Hey, you okay?”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Alex groans. “Do I _look_ okay?”

“Nah, man, you look like shit. I’m gonna help you sit up, okay?”

Moving sounds like the worst idea in the world at the moment, but lying in the middle of a cold, dark alley probably isn’t going to help his case any. With the stranger supporting his arm, Alex gets up out of the puddle of brackish rainwater and manages to prop himself up against one of the Dumpsters. Every breath he draws hurts like fire burning up through his lungs, and his hand is killing him. He wiggles his fingers and hisses out a pained breath. Probably broken. Actually, definitely broken, going by the purple knuckles and the way his pinky is jutting out at a strange angle. Fuck.

“Can you tell me your name?”

Alex finally looks over at the stranger, squinting with his one good eye. It’s a boy around his age, maybe a year or two older, with dark skin and even darker eyes that scan Alex over, lingering where Alex imagines he looks the worst. He’s carrying a black satchel with a gold pin that says “Columbia University” and another that reads, “Mutant & Proud,” which makes Alex immediately relax a little.

“What’s your name?” the guy prompts again, peering at Alex’s eyes.

“Uh, Alex.”

“I’m Darwin. Look, I’m going to call 911, okay? Just sit right there, you’ll be okay.”  

“No!” Alex grabs for him with his good hand. “No, I’m okay. Don’t call the cops.”

Darwin’s eyebrows go up. “What, you a criminal or something?”

“No, it’s just…” Alex swallows, then ducks his head with a scowl. “Foster parents really don’t need to hear about this, that’s all.”

For a moment, Darwin just stands there, cellphone in hand. Then he sighs, slips it back into his pocket, and crouches back down. “You’re pretty badly beat up. You should go to the hospital at least.”

“No hospitals either,” Alex grits out through his teeth. The fosters will hear about that, too, and he can’t have that. Not when it’s not just his future on the line, it’s Scott’s, too. Any more delinquency, they said, and they’d be separating them. They won’t care if it was self-defense or not; he’s already been enough trouble as it is, and he knows it.

“Okay.” Darwin seems to think for a moment before nodding. “Do you think you can walk?”

“Um…” Alex thinks probably not, but he’s not about to admit that. “Sure. Help me up.”

Together they get him levered to his feet, and Darwin keeps his arm on Alex’s elbow until he stops swaying so much. “I know a place pretty nearby,” he says as he guides Alex to the mouth of the alleyway. “It’s a shelter, and they have a doctor. He’ll stitch you up, no questions asked.”

Alex’s mouth twists derisively. “A shelter? No thanks, man. Those places don’t like people like me.”

“What, troublemakers?”

“Mutants.”

“Not this place,” Darwin says, holding on when Alex goes to tug his arm away. “It’s a mutant-only shelter. Come on.”

There’s really nothing to do but obey — Alex isn’t in much shape to be walking around without help, and besides, he really _does_ want to see a doctor, if only so he can get a hold of some Ibuprofen, or maybe some of the stronger stuff.

It’s late enough in the day that there aren’t too many people in the streets to gawk at them as they pass by, but still Alex tilts his face away, hoping he won’t run into anyone from school. That would just be the fucking cherry on the cake, wouldn’t it, running into one of those assholes with his face all busted up. These days they’re keener than ever on mocking him and shoving him around, and he doesn’t think he could take the humiliation of their knowing he got the shit kicked out of him.  

“Here it is,” Darwin says, pulling him under the awning of a building Alex has passed a hundred times but never really looked at before. The sign above the door says, _The X House_.

A brown-haired girl lounging in an armchair near the entrance jumps up immediately when she spots them. “Darwin! What the hell happened?”

“Kitty, is Hank in?”

“Uh no, but Charles is in the back. I’ll get him.”

Quick as a flash, she darts off down the hall. “What is this place?” Alex asks, staring around. It doesn’t look like any shelter he’s seen before.

“It’s sort of a halfway house for mutants,” Darwin explains.

“You live here?”

“No, I volunteer here. Same with Kitty and Hank.”

“Hank the doctor?”

“Yeah. Well, kind of. He’s a surgical resident right now. Almost the same thing.”

A moment later, Kitty reappears, followed by a man in a wheelchair. He looks around thirty, maybe a little older, the hairs at his temple just beginning to go gray. His eyes are a deep, piercing blue, and Alex resists the urge to shrink away as they sweep over him, no doubt taking in his ragged appearance and one hundred percent judging him for it.

“I’m not judging you for anything, Alex,” the man says mildly.

“How — ”

“That’s Charles,” Darwin says. “He’s a telepath.”

Shit. Alex tries very hard to think of a blank wall, but by the way Charles is smiling, gentle and amused, he doesn’t think he’s succeeding.

“Please don’t worry,” Charles says. “I’m not interested in your secrets. I _am_ interested in getting you some medical care though. You seem to have had a rough evening.”

Darwin shifts his grip on Alex’s arm. “Kitty said Hank’s not in?”  

“No, he’s not, but Erik is. He’ll be out in a moment.”

“Erik?” Alex mutters.

“Charles’s husband,” Darwin says lowly. “He helps Charles run the place.”

Husband? Alex blinks. This place is full of surprises, isn’t it.

Erik arrives a minute later with a first aid kit in hand. He’s tall and lean with a severe face that makes Alex automatically bristle, ready to defend himself if need be. There’s coiled power under Erik’s skin, coiled danger, Alex can feel it. But when Erik sees Charles, his expression softens into light exasperation and he says, “I saw that you ordered Italian. I thought I told you I was cooking tonight.”

Charles takes his hand and presses a quick kiss to his palm. “Sorry, darling. You weren’t back from the university yet and I got hungry. Tomorrow night?”

“Fine.” Erik turns his attention to Darwin and Alex. His assessing gaze takes Alex in and he snaps the first aid kit open. “Come over here and sit down.”

Alex stiffens at the command, but Darwin pulls him over to the armchair Kitty had vacated and pushes him down into it. Erik gives him a critical look and asks dryly, “What _doesn’t_ hurt?”

As Erik patches him up (none-too-gently), Alex learns that he’s ex-military, which explains why he’s been tasked as the medic in Hank’s absence. He also learns that Charles opened this place with his trust fund when he was a college kid, and he met Erik at a mutant rally on the Columbia campus. Fast forward fifteen years and The X House, according to Charles, who rattles this all off proudly like a parent showing off a child, has housed and served over two thousand mutants over the years and currently shelters twenty-two mutants.

“And what do you do here?” Alex asks Darwin, eyeing him.

“Odd jobs whenever they need me. I also babysit the kids sometimes when their parents are out.”

“Kids?”

“We shelter families as well as single adults,” Charles explains. “Darwin here is one of our most dedicated volunteers.” He smiles warmly at him. “We couldn’t do it without him.”

“Come on, Charles,” Darwin says with some embarrassment, “I don’t even do that much.”

It’s hard to detect a blush under his dark skin, but he does duck his head. Alex is struck with the sudden realization that Darwin is kind of adorable, and also kind of hot.

Panicking, he tries to forget that line of thought immediately, but as usual, it’s lodged in his brain now that he’s noticed it. Fuck.

“It looks like you have a couple of bruised ribs,” Erik says, stripping his gloves off. “Your hand looks broken, too — you’ll have to go to the hospital for that one.”

Alex shakes his head. “Can’t you just put a splint on it or something?”

“Do I look like a doctor?”

He’ll have to wrap it up later on his own and hope it heals fine, Alex resolves. No fuss, no trouble.

Too late he remembers that Charles is probably reading every thought running through his head — Charles looks sharply over him and says, “Darwin will take you to the ER, won’t you, Darwin?”

“Of course.” Darwin’s thumb presses in reassuringly at the crease of Alex’s elbow.

Alex shakes him off. “I’m okay, really. I should be getting home anyway. It’s late.”

Charles frowns. “That hand of yours really does need to be looked at by a medical professional.”

“No, really, I — ”

“Come on,” Darwin cuts in, his voice gentle but firm. “Charles will straighten things out with your foster home, right?”

Understanding seems to dawn in Charles’s eyes. “Yes, of course. If you’ll give me their number, I’ll call your guardians and explain what’s happening.”

“You can’t,” Alex says, a flare of panic swelling in his chest. “I’ve already gotten into too much trouble with them. If they hear about this — ”

“We’ll just tell them you were mugged,” Darwin says. “Come on, man, it’ll be okay.”

“But — ”

“Go,” Erik snaps irritably. “The longer you wait on that hand, the worse it’ll feel. I’ll talk to your foster parents. I’ve been through my fair share of homes, I know how it is.”

Alex wants to argue more, wants to dig his heels in and give them a real fight. But Charles gives him a long look, and suddenly Alex is nearly dead on his feet, exhausted and in pain and desperate to get some relief for it. “Okay,” he says, cradling his throbbing hand to his chest. “I’ll go.”

Darwin frowns. “Charles…”

“I only gave him a nudge. Take him to the hospital and then bring him back here. We can keep him for the night, until he feels better in the morning.”

“Okay.”

Alex isn’t sure if he loses consciousness at any point, but the next thing he knows, he’s being buckled into the passenger seat of a nice, sleek Lexus that purrs to life when Darwin turns the key. “Nice ride,” Alex says. “You rich?”

Darwin huffs a laugh. “I wish. It’s Charles’s. Now come on, stay awake. I’m not going to drag your body into the ER.”

As they pull out into the street, Alex lets his head loll toward Darwin and allows himself a few minutes to admire Darwin’s strong cheekbones, his quick intelligent eyes, the swell of his lower lip. He’d like to bite that lip, he thinks. He’d like to suck on it until he found out what noise Darwin makes when he’s pleased.

“Why’d you help me?” he asks.

“What?”

“Why’d you help me in the alley? Just being a Good Samaritan?”

“What, I can’t be a nice guy?”

Alex doesn’t really believe in nice guys, not after everything he’s lived through as a kid and a teenager. He doesn’t really believe in nice people, period. But Darwin is…something else. Something Alex isn’t sure how to deal with.

“Guess it was just my lucky day,” he mutters, sinking lower into his seat.

He’ll remember that moment six years later when he’s standing across from Darwin at the altar in front of all their friends, promising his life to Darwin in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad, till death do us part and all that good shit. He won’t even wait for the officiator to give them permission to kiss before yanking Darwin in and pressing their mouths together fiercely, just like he’s determined to do every day for the rest of their lives.

“Guess that really was my lucky day, huh?” he says breathlessly when they finally part.

Darwin gives him a dazed look, his lip a bit swollen from the kiss. “Huh?”

“Nothing,” Alex laughs. “I love you, you idiot, that’s all. Come on.” He takes Darwin’s hand and squeezes it. “Let’s go.”


	13. drunk love confessions AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik's getting a divorce. He finds something on the other side. 
> 
> Prompt: "I've seen the way you look at me when you think I don't notice." 
> 
> Written for black_betty.

It was eight o’clock when Erik finally took a cab over, his head fuzzy and his vision swimming from the several drinks he’d knocked back. Charles answered the door before he even knocked. “I felt you coming,” he said in reply to Erik’s raised eyebrow. “Come on in.”

It took Erik a moment to wrangle his suitcase over the threshold of the door. Once he had, he stopped to hang his coat up and nearly tripped himself toeing his shoes off. Charles wrinkled his nose and asked, “How much have you had to drink?”

“Not a lot.”

“You’re an even worse liar when you’re drunk, you know. Come on, let’s get you settled before you pass out.”

Following Charles’s chair down the hall, he ran his free hand over the wall as he walked, feeling out all the metal in the light fixtures and the pipes and the foundation, calling to him in humming song. He wanted to wrap himself in metal, curl up somewhere warm, and sleep until the world righted itself again and the floor was no longer swaying under his feet. The pipes creaked slightly toward him as he tugged on them, testing.

“If you break my apartment, I will kick you out,” Charles said, giving Erik a stern look.

Chagrined, Erik released the pipes and let the metal’s song fade. “Sorry. I’m just a little — ” He waved vaguely at his head.

Charles’s expression softened. “How are you feeling?”

“A little like throwing up.”

“No, I mean — ” Charles hesitated, glancing away as he pushed the door of the guest room open. “How are you and Magda?”

Erik swallowed, then grimaced. His throat tasted like bad beer and cigarette smoke, and it burned when he said, “We’re getting a divorce.”

It was the first time he’d told anyone since the decision had been made two days ago. Halfway into the guest room, Charles stilled, his shock skittering over Erik like sudden pinpricks of cold rain. “My God, Erik, I’m so sorry. I thought — I thought your staying here was going to be a trial separation. What happened?”

Erik shrugged. To be honest, at this point, he didn’t recall much of the conversation. It had only been a couple of days ago, but it felt like a lifetime. He remembered Magda’s face, drawn and resigned, and he remembered the awful feeling of guilt and sorrow that had swelled up when she’d hugged him tightly and told him it was going to be okay, and that she didn’t blame him.

Some of that must have leaked out because Charles winced. “I’m so sorry, Erik. I’m — I don’t know what to say. Are you sure about this? Divorce is rather last resort, isn’t it? Have you tried marriage counseling?”

Erik flicked him an annoyed look. “You don’t think we tried everything?”

“…Of course. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound patronizing. You must be exhausted anyway — we can talk more in the morning.” Charles rolled his chair back so Erik could step into the room. “I put new sheets on the bed, and there’s a fresh towel in the bathroom. Feel free to use the closet and the dresser, and if there’s anything else you need, please don’t hesitate to ask. I’m right across the hall, as you know.”

“Yes.” Erik knew Charles’s place almost as well as he knew his own. Well, technically it was Magda’s now, he supposed, since he’d moved in with her when they’d gotten married and now he was moving out. The thought felt very distant, as if he were looking at it through a thick, frosted window. Everything felt very distant right now, except for Charles, who seemed closer than ever.

Charles gave him a long, inscrutable look and then nodded. “Okay, I’ll leave you to get ready for bed then. You look like you need sleep. I’ll get you some aspirin for the morning.”  

“Thanks.”

Erik managed to shuffle over to the bed and sank down onto it. After a moment, Charles leaned forward to pat his knee comfortingly and then started to withdraw, but Erik caught his wrist. Charles made a startled noise. “Erik?”

“I told Magda I was in love with someone else,” Erik said, staring at Charles’s hand. Some part of him was screaming, _Shut up, you fucking idiot!_ but he kept talking. “That’s why we’re getting divorced. It was just going to be a separation, but I told her I was in love with someone else. It wouldn’t be fair to her if…if we kept trying, right? Not when I don’t feel the same way anymore.”

He looked up to search Charles’s gaze, hoping for answers, hoping for inspiration for the right thing to say, but Charles looked shattered open. The pain in his eyes threatened to swallow Erik up, and he gripped Charles’s wrist more tightly, suddenly afraid. “Charles, what’s wrong?”

Eyes shuttering, Charles wrenched his arm away. “Erik, you’re drunk. Let’s talk in the morning, yeah?”

“Charles — ”

“I’ll leave the lights on, but I’m going to turn in, okay?” Charles wheeled his chair around toward the door, his shoulders tight. “I’ll be up early tomorrow if you need anything. Otherwise, just — ”

“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”

Charles froze, his back to Erik. He hardly even seemed to be breathing, his hands clenched tightly around the rims of his wheels.

Emboldened, Erik said, “I think you’re in love with me.”

“Erik — ” Charles said unsteadily.

“I think you’re in love with me,” Erik pressed, “and — and I think you should tell me if I’m right. If I was right to ask for a divorce.”

“For God’s sake, Erik, how would I know — ” Charles’s knuckles went white around his wheels. “Oh my God. Don’t tell me…”

“I’m in love with you. I’m head over fucking heels in love with you, and I want you to tell me you’re in love with me, too. Because — I don’t have any fucking idea what I’m going to do if you aren’t.”

For a long, terrible moment, Charles didn’t say anything. Erik was just about to put his head between his knees and throw up when Charles spun his chair around, his chest heaving. “I’m in love with you, too. God, Erik, I’ve been in love with you since I was seventeen. I’ve always been in love with you.”

“You…” Erik stared at him, speechless. He’d imagined this moment so many different ways over the last few months, but somehow he’d never thought about what would happen if Charles ever said yes. He’d never _allowed_ himself to even _think_ —

He was up off the bed before he knew it, but almost immediately the floor tilted beneath his feet and he staggered toward Charles more than walked toward him. His knees wobbled and gave out, and he ended up in Charles’s arms, in Charles’s lap, and Charles was kissing him and Erik felt his eyes roll to the back of his head.

The next thing he knew, Charles was pulling him up off the floor and laughing. “Jesus, you’re sloshed. Come on, up you get. Come on.”

Together, they managed to pour Erik back into bed. Charles kissed his forehead and brushed back his hair, his eyes immensely fond. “Go to sleep. We’ll talk more in the morning, okay?”

“Don’t go.”

“What?”

With enormous effort, Erik rolled over and patted the space next to him. “Come here. Sleep…sleep with me tonight.”

He wasn’t sure what Charles said in reply because he accidentally closed his eyes, but the next thing he was aware of was Charles’s warm body pressed all along his own, his arms wrapped around Erik. And oh — this was nice. He hoped they could do this more later, when he was less drunk and could remember it more.

“Go to sleep, silly darling,” Charles whispered in his ear. “We can do a lot more than this when you wake up.”

“Promise?” Erik mumbled, but he was asleep before he heard the answer, and he dreamed of the best things.


	14. werewolf AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief detente between two wolf packs.

“Well this is awkward…”

Charles resisted the urge to rub at his brow. “Please, Alex, let’s not make this any more uncomfortable than it has to be.”

At his side, Alex bristled but thankfully subsided. His hostility was making a couple of Erik’s pack antsy, their lips curling slightly to bare their teeth. They were clearly young, reacting instinctively to danger in the only way they knew how. In contrast, Erik, as always, seemed perfectly at ease, his mask of composure betraying nothing. Once upon a time, Charles thought, Erik had taken that mask off for him. It felt like a lifetime ago.  

He said, “You and your pack are welcome to stay the night. We have plenty of bedrooms and food for everyone. But — ” Charles fixed Erik with a pointed look “ — if you or your people cause any disturbances, you will leave immediately, understood? I have children here, Erik, and I won’t put them at risk.”

After a moment, Erik inclined his head in agreement. His gray eyes swept around the foyer. “Is Hank here?”

Charles nodded. “He’s downstairs. He’ll look after your wounded. Alex, if you would escort them to the infirmary?”

“This isn’t a good idea,” Alex muttered behind him, shifting testily on his feet. “We can’t trust him.”  

Sean nodded. “Gotta agree with him, Prof.”

“I’m quite aware of it,” Charles replied, his hand tightening around his cane. He wanted to find a seat to relieve the ache in his knee, but first Erik and his people would have to be settled. No doubt they were hungry as well, so provisions would have to be found for them, and those who were injured needed tending to. And if the hunters were as close behind as Erik let on …

Charles shook his head, dispelling the thought. The hunters wouldn’t come here. They had an agreement.

“Alex, take the injured to the infirmary, if you would,” he ordered. “Sean, could you show our guests to the empty bedrooms in the north wing?”  

Both of them exchanged glances, but they moved to obey without further protest. As Erik’s group dispersed, Charles counted them — four women, three men. He recognized only Azazel and Angel from the last time he’d crossed paths with Erik’s pack, both of whom nodded at him as they passed. They smelled like blood and sweat and the dust of the road, a mixture of scents that made a sharp longing for the moon shiver through him. He clenched his cane a little more tightly and breathed lightly through his mouth.

When only Erik was left, Charles said, “Come with me. We’ll talk in my study.”

Erik started for the stairs, but Charles gestured down the hall. “We moved the study,” Charles explained. “It’s difficult getting up the stairs these days, for obvious reasons.”

That mask of impassivity cracked, and shame and guilt flickered across Erik’s face. “How is your leg?” he asked softly as they walked.

“It’s better. The doctors say I’ll always walk with a limp, but … ” He smiled humorlessly. “At least I’ll walk.”

After a brief silence, Erik said, “I’m sorry for what happened. Truly, I am. I never meant for you to be hurt. If I’d known … ”

“Yes, well,” Charles said, “we all have regrets, don’t we?”

He pushed the door to his study open and led the way inside. This study was smaller than the one upstairs, and the window looked out over the front of the house, rather than over the back lawn like Charles had preferred. Still, until they had the time to install an elevator, he was largely confined to the first floor. Irritating as it was, it was something he was slowly learning to deal with, just like he was learning to live without Raven, and without Erik.

He parted the curtains and peered out into the darkening sky. The fattening moon was faintly visible overhead, and the sight of it tugged at Charles’s gut. “How long will you stay?”

Erik shrugged. “I don’t know. It depends on how seriously Jason and Mortimer are injured.”

“I don’t want your pack here when the full moon rises. I’ve my own pack to look after, and I don’t trust your people not to harm them.”

“They wouldn’t,” Erik said immediately. But at Charles’s sharp look, he acquiesced. “We’ll be gone before then.”

“Good. I’ll give you all food and supplies for the road when you leave. Just … ” Charles sighed. “Do try to keep out of trouble until you’re out of New York. The hunters and I have agreed — ”

“You _agreed_ ,” Erik cut in, eyes going cold. “I thought you were done making deals with the humans, Charles.”

At his sneer, Charles’s spine stiffened. “They know this is a safe haven. They know the people here are more scared than dangerous. This mansion is neutral territory.”

Erik shook his head contemptuously. “You would trust them with your lives? _Them?_ They killed your father, Charles. They tried to kill you.”

“Only because they didn’t _understand_ ,” Charles insisted. “They think we’re all bloodthirsty beasts, but we’re not. This place — this _pack_ — will teach them otherwise.”

Erik’s mouth twisted. “By chaining yourselves up when the moon rises. By hiding who you truly are in order to appease them. You think that’ll stop them? They’re hunters, Charles. It’s in their blood to kill our kind.”

“Not all of them. Some of them just want peace, as we do. It’s true, we have centuries of tradition and bloodshed to fight against, but I believe we can coexist. I believe we are already.”

Erik turned away in disgust. “Now I remember why I left.”

That shouldn’t have hurt, but it did, like a wood splinter twisting in Charles’s heart. Drawing himself up, he said rigidly, “I’ll have dinner prepared for your people. Tell them they can come down to the dining room when they’re ready to eat. And go down and see Hank. I can smell you bleeding.”

Shoulders squared, Erik brushed past him and disappeared out the door. Charles watched him go and listened until his footsteps had faded all the way down the hall. Then he let out a shaky breath and sank heavily into the chair behind his desk, his left knee trembling a little with the strain.

Once upon a time, he thought, that man loved you. The wood splinter felt more like a stake now, burrowing into his soul. He stared out the window at the pale moon and itched to run, itched to dig his paws into the damp soil and feel the wet grass against his muzzle and loose the howl that sat trapped in his ribcage, chafing to be set free.  

In the morning, he thought. In the morning he would ask Erik and his pack to leave. The sooner they were gone, the better. With the full moon coming in two nights, it was best that they put as much distance between themselves and Westchester as possible. Wolves could get so territorial during the shift, and Charles didn’t want to risk anything.

Even so, he closed his eyes and let himself imagine for a moment what it would be like if Erik stayed. What it would be like to run under the shadow of the moon with Erik again, to be part of the same pack, part of the same blood. He missed that more than he could admit even to himself, and the loss ached like a half-healed wound in his chest.

He made the arrangements for dinner and then turned in, too tired to be hungry. He could faintly hear the bustle of movement in the kitchen as he prepared for bed, hushed conversation and the occasional laugh drifting down from the hall. As he climbed into bed, his left leg stiff and painful, the moon began to shine through his window in earnest, the thin evening clouds dispersing into a clear night sky. Charles closed his eyes and felt the moon-song under his skin, a siren’s melody beckoning him to run.

He slept deeply and dreamed of Erik’s howl calling him home.  


	15. a proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik has an important question to ask Charles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place in the football verse theletteraesc and I throw around sometimes.

By the time Charles finishes his second loop around Hyde Park, the sun has dipped low on the horizon, turning the sky a fiery orange and yellow. It’s a brilliant day, cloudless and cooled by a breeze that ruffles through Charles’s damp hair and dries the sweat on his skin. A couple of straggling tourist groups make their way along the paths, snapping last-minute photos before the sun disappears entirely. Two girls jog by, chatting as they go, and a little ways a way, a few boys are kicking a football around, their dog lounging under the shade of a tree nearby.

It’s a quiet, perfect evening. Or it would have been if Charles hadn’t been running alone.

With a sigh, he snaps a photo of the sunset and texts it to Erik with the caption, _missing you_. Then he slides his phone back into his pocket and jogs home.

The first thing he notices when he opens the door is that his jacket isn’t the only one on the coat hanger, as it has been for the last three weeks. The second thing he notices is the sharp, distinctive aroma of latkes cooking in the kitchen.

Weariness from the run forgotten, he bounds through the living room to the kitchen and finds Erik standing behind the oven, measuring salt out with a pinch of his finger.

“Erik!” Charles exclaims, eyes wide. “I thought you weren’t going to be home for another four days at least.”

Wiping his hands on his apron, Erik grins, his eyes raking over Charles’s appearance. “And miss your birthday? What kind of boyfriend do you think I am?”

“But I thought — ” Charles shakes his head, confused. “You still have another match left. Against Roma.”

“Wenger let me off early. You know how variable these summer schedules are, and it’s just a pre-season tour anyway.”

“I’m sure you’re disappointing quite a few of your American fans who’d been hoping to see you.”

Erik huffs. “Probably. But I wanted to make you a birthday dinner, so here I am.” He gives Charles a pointed look. “If you’re going to keep complaining, I can be on a plane back to New York in under an hour.”

“Oh hush.” Charles surges forward and hugs him tight, breathing in Erik’s warm, familiar scent. “Thank you. I missed you.”

Erik kisses his cheek and then pries him off. “I missed you, too, but you’re disgusting. Go take a shower and put on something nice.”

“Something nice?”

“That’s what I said.”

Puzzled, Charles leaves him in the kitchen and heads through the bedroom to the bathroom. After a quick, efficient shower, he towels off his wet hair and pokes through his closet, wondering how nice Erik wants him to dress. He dismisses his tuxedo, dismisses a button-down-and-slacks combination, and finally settles on a simple suit and a dark blue tie that Erik loves. Glancing at the mirror, he combs his hair with his fingers and straightens the knot of his tie before heading back out.

Dinner is sitting on the kitchen table by the time he returns. Erik, who’s in the middle of opening a wine bottle, stops and just looks at Charles for a moment, his eyes full of so much warmth and approval that Charles can feel a flush rise to his cheeks. Ridiculous. He’s thirty-seven today and they’ve been together for nearly eight years now. How can a heated look from Erik still make him blush?

“Perfect timing,” Erik says finally. “Come open this wine bottle while I go get changed.”

“Changed?” Erik’s already wearing that turtleneck Charles likes, the turtleneck he’d hoped to be stripping off Erik in a few hours’ time. “You look fine. My birthday doesn’t have to be a formal affair, you know.”

“I want to,” Erik replies, passing the corkscrew over. “Be right back.”

Odd. They’ve never made a big fuss over Charles’s birthday before, except when Raven is in town and throws an enormous party that leaves them all with crushing hangovers the following morning. In fact, these days Charles would prefer if they didn’t make a big deal over his birthday; he doesn’t particularly enjoy the reminder that he’s getting older, even if Erik says he adores Charles’s gray streak and how mature and stately he looks with every passing year.

Charles pops the cork and pours them each half a glass of wine. A glance at the label makes his eyebrow tick upward — Erik’s spared no expense tonight. Thirty-seven isn’t even a milestone. Is Erik just feeling especially affectionate this year?

Within a few minutes, Erik returns in a neat, charcoal gray suit that highlights his broad shoulders and his narrow waist exquisitely, making Charles’s tongue stick in his mouth for a moment. Admiring him, Charles is glad Erik had insisted on changing — he looks even more delicious now than he had in the turtleneck, and that’s quite a feat.

“Is this suit new?” Charles asks as he steps over to fix the knot of Erik’s tie. Erik can never get it right. “I don’t think I’ve seen it before.”

“Yeah. I had it done a while ago, but I was saving it for tonight.”  

Charles’s brow crinkles. “What, for my birthday? You’re going all out, aren’t you?”

Erik gives him a quick, furtive grin. “I intend to. Come on, sit down.”

“You’re acting very strangely tonight,” Charles remarks as he takes his seat. “Is everything all right?”

“Everything is perfect.” Erik picks up his wineglass and holds it up. “Happy birthday.”

“Happy birthday to me,” Charles murmurs as he takes a sip.

Dinner is heavenly. After three weeks of takeout and the occasional bland microwave dinner, Erik’s cooking is an absolute delight. “I don’t know why I ever let you leave,” Charles says, savoring the potatoes. “You should never leave again.”

“Well I always have to come back,” Erik replies with a fond shake of his head. “Otherwise you’d starve to death.”

“Very true.” As he sips the wine again, Charles says, “I watched a couple of your matches on tour, you know. That goal you scored against Barcelona — absolutely incredible. I still don’t understand why Wenger insists on playing that new Cassidy kid up front with you though. He’s hardly got enough experience to play with the first team at all, let alone be a starter.”

Erik shrugs. “He’s still young. He’s learning.”

“I suppose. Anyway, you had a much more interesting last three weeks than I did. I’ve been losing my fucking mind over all the paperwork I’ve had to shuffle through. Big club like Arsenal, you’d think they could hire someone to deal with all the bloody tax forms and the like.”

“Well that’s your job now, isn’t it?”

“I’m to be the Under-18s assistant coach, not the Under-18s secretary. It’s annoying as hell. I’ve half a mind to quit already.”

“You won’t quit. You love kids too much.”

Charles huffs. “True. But I _could_ quit, and Arsenal had better be damn well grateful that I’m not.”

“I’m sure they are,” Erik says in amusement, and Charles just huffs again and rolls his eyes.

After they finish up dinner, Erik gets to his feet. Thinking he’s going to get the cake, Charles stands, too, and starts to stack the dishes to carry them back to the kitchen. But Erik says, “No, sit down,” and Charles obeys, a bit confused.

Erik tugs at his tie tensely for a moment before dropping it and straightening his jacket. “Okay. Let me say my piece before you say anything, promise?”

Charles nods, brow furrowing. “Promise.”

“All right.” Erik takes a deep breath, then lets it out. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately about us. About how long we’ve been together and about what the next logical step would be. I know we’re in a good place right now and I’ve been afraid of rocking the boat, but I love you more than almost anything in the world and I don’t see that changing anytime soon. So I think we should get married.”

Charles stares at him, and keeps staring, eyes wide.  

Erik scrubs a hand through his hair, a nervous tic he’s never been able to get rid of. “Don’t tell me you didn’t see this coming. It’s been — god, Charles, we’ve been together for over seven years. Most people probably would’ve been married and divorced by now.”

“Erik,” Charles breathes, shaking his head. “Are you — are you sure about this? Because you’re right, we’re in a good place right now. The tabloids hardly even report on us anymore, that’s how normal we’ve gotten. But a wedding — that would only stir up the hornet’s nest again, bring out all the bigots. Are you sure you want to invite that kind of drama?”

“I’m sure I love you,” Erik says firmly, his nervousness beginning to shed away as he continues. “I’m sure I want you by my side for the rest of my life. That’s what I’m sure of. So forget about the tabloids and forget about everyone else. Just answer the question. Will you marry me?”

For a long moment, Charles can’t speak. He can hardly even believe what he’s hearing. They’ve been together for ages, it’s true, and he’s never imagined separating from Erik, but he’s also somehow never imagined _this_. Erik wants to _marry_ him.

Dazed, he says, “Isn’t there supposed to be a ring? And some kneeling business?”

Erik fumbles at his pocket. “I’m sorry, I guess I got ahead of myself.” Sinking to a knee, he opens up a small velvet box, inside of which sits a gleaming gold ring that just about takes Charles’s breath away. “ _Now_ will you marry me?”

“Yes.” Charles laughs and slides off his chair, throwing his arms around Erik. “Yes, of course, darling, of _course_.”


	16. some futuristic sci-fi AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles comes out of cryo to find something unexpected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on [this](http://velvetcadence.tumblr.com/post/114103699398/theletteraesc-trobador-trobador).

When Charles opened his eyes, the world was blurry and gray. Instinct made him want to sit up automatically and assess his surroundings, to see if he was in danger and figure out what was going on. But training made him lie still and breathe deeply, feeling the long-unused muscles of his chest contracting and releasing to pump stale, recycled air through his aching lungs.

Coming out of cryo was always difficult. Some people threw up, or tried to. Some people were disoriented and confused for days. Charles, thankfully, was only vaguely nauseated. It helped that this wasn’t his first time reemerging after a long period under. He had long since gotten used to the feeling by now.

Even with his familiarity with the process, it took him several minutes to realize that something was wrong. His brain, which always took a little more time to wake up than his body, struggled to find and catalog the strangeness. For a long while, he simply lay there and tried to keep his breathing steady, even as his heart sped up. 

Then he realized what it was: his helmet was gone.

Shit. His hand flew up and touched bare skin, not synthetic glass. His heart was galloping now, and despite knowing that moving around before allowing the full thirty minutes required for his body to readjust to consciousness was a bad idea, he sat up. 

One thing was immediately clear: this wasn’t the cryo chamber on the bridge of his ship. As far as he could tell, he wasn’t even on his ship anymore. He was in a small white room with no windows and one door to his left. The biobed he sat on looked old, at least a hundred years outdated, and one of its attached monitors was cracked. The images on the other monitors were fuzzy and indistinct, like a holovid that had been corrupted. No one had fixed it up for some time. The only thing that seemed to function correctly was the heartbeat monitor that ran along the rail of the bed, displaying the rapid jump of his heart.

So this place was Alliance at least. The bed was Alliance tech, no doubt about that. But surely a modern hospital or medical ward wouldn’t employ broken tech like this. Where the hell was he?

His head hurt. At least he hadn’t been stripped of his Alliance uniform and his belongings. The watch on his wrist told him that it was March 20, 2336, but that couldn’t be right. The cryo chamber’s alarm should have woken him up eleven days ago. So why was he waking up now?

The door to his left hissed open, and he jerked, heartbeat monitor tracking every racing spike of his heart. His body was still sluggish from sleeping for so long, but he thought he could put up a decent fight. At the very least, he wouldn’t go quietly.

A tall man entered the room, humanoid in all his structures, humanoid in the way he moved as he came over to examine the monitors. Charles clenched the sheets tightly between his white knuckles, trying to fight back his surprise. Prenurians he could have suspected. If not them, then Dothra pirates, who were notorious for preying on Alliance ships. But fellow humans? What did they want?

“Your heart is beating very fast, Dr. Xavier,” said the man coolly. “Try to calm down.”

He spoke English but with an odd accent. An old accent, the kind Charles’s grandparents had had, carried over from their parents who had come from Earth.

“Who…” His mouth was dry as dust, and his tongue felt swollen and clumsy in his mouth. Swallowing, he started again. “Who are you?”

“I am called Erik,” the man said. “I was tasked to care for you.”

“What happened to me?”

“You crash-landed six days ago. There was a calibration error in your ship’s navigator. It entered the atmosphere at too steep an angle, and your ship’s shielding could not withstand the stress. One of the scouts found you and brought you in.”

“I…crashed?”

“Yes. You were lucky to survive, though your injuries were serious. We tended to your wounds and returned you to your cryo chamber to allow for faster recuperation.”

Which was why he’d woken up late. That made sense.

He tried to think, though his mind was fuzzy. “The crew? There were others. Seven of us total.”

“We recovered four of you alive.”

There was no mistaking what had happened to the others. Charles closed his eyes briefly and fought down a swell of nausea. Three of his companions, dead. He didn’t want to ask which ones. He was afraid to know.  

“Who are your people?” he asked instead. “And where am I? I didn’t think there were any human ships this close to the Border. I thought I was the only one.”

“We are not human, and this is not a human ship,” Erik said. He looked down at Charles, and Charles saw in his eyes the flash of circuitry, the gleam of intelligence hosted in a million wires and synapses intricately woven together in a magnificent show of innovation. Shock stole Charles’s breath away.

“I am what you would call an android,“ Erik continued, "and this is Earth.”


	17. charles is a vampire AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles's boyfriend is a very skilled artist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based vaguely on [this](http://ikeracity.tumblr.com/post/110047783569/brainbubblegum-bogleech-igotshitiwannasay).

Erik’s pencil was dull. Charles could hear it scraping across paper in the way it did when it had been ground to a nub, long past due to be sharpened. But Erik, stubborn as always, continued to use it to the very end, until it was too blunt to form even an approximation of the sharp lines he required. As he reached for the knife he used to shave his pencils to a point, Charles rolled onto his belly and said, “Surely you’re finished by now. You’ve been sketching for nearly half an hour.”

“Not yet,” Erik said in annoyance. “Turn back over, you’ve ruined the pose.”

Obediently, Charles returned to his side, idly rearranging the sheets around his bare waist so that they covered enough to preserve his dignity. He didn’t mind modeling nude — enjoyed it, in fact — but Erik was particular about his portraits. This morning’s was to be partially covered.

“Please tell me you’re nearly done,” Charles said as Erik sharpened his pencil. “Much as I like lounging about for you to admire, I like you in bed with me better.”

“Nearly,” Erik growled. “Let me concentrate.”

Charles ignored his gruffness; Erik was always irritable when he was sketching, even with a subject he loved as much as Charles. As the pencil began to shade over paper once again, Charles ran a finger over the fine, thick sheet draped over his hip. Lovely. Much better quality than the threadbare bedspread in the cheap motel they’d first met and made love in. It was odd to think that that had been ten years ago. Only the blink of an eye to him but a full third of Erik’s life. The thought made his heart ache.  

“Done,” Erik said finally, laying his pencil aside. He stood from the chair he’d been perched on and came over, sketchpad in hand. “The lighting wasn’t quite right, but it’s as good as it’ll ever be. There’s not enough sun today for the effect I was going for.”

Charles held out his hand for the sketch, and Erik carefully tore it free from the pad and gave it to him. He was silent as Charles stared down at himself, awaiting Charles’s reaction.

Charles ran his eye slowly across the page, following the line of his exposed legs, the twist of the sheet around his waist, the slope of his ribs. As usual, Erik had put special emphasis on his hands; he loved Charles’s hands, loved his strong fingers, his blunt nails, his broad palms. He had drawn one of Charles’s hands curled into the bed-sheet, gripping it as those fingers might grip Erik’s hair. A subtle suggestion perhaps, just enough to make Charles smile.  

From those hands, his gaze ran up freckled forearms to broad shoulders and pale neck. Finally, he looked at his face, his face as Erik saw it at least, and took a moment to study it closely. No matter how often Erik sketched him, no matter how many times he saw his own portrait, each new iteration fascinated him. It seemed that enough of him changed, or enough of Erik’s perspective of him changed, to render each new sketch fresh and interesting once again.

“I still think my nose must be smaller than that,” he said as he gazed down at himself. He had freckles on his cheeks. He always forgot that detail.

“No, it’s just right,” Erik replied, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

Charles studied the line of his jaw, the generous curve of his mouth. He didn’t remember his mouth being quite so dark, but Erik always insisted that it was the most obscene red. And his eyes…

As if he’d heard that thought, Erik said, “I still can’t get your eyes right. I never can.”

“They look fine to me.”

“I don’t want them to look _fine_. They don’t look fine in real life. They’re much more than that.” Erik let out a frustrated huff. “I wish you could see that.”

“Oh, darling, you’ve already helped me see more of myself than I have in decades.” Charles laid the sketch aside and reached out to tug him down onto the bed. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Erik said as he pulled Charles down on top of him. “Anytime you ask.”

Charles kissed him long and gentle and then bent his head to set his mouth to Erik’s neck. The sweet pulse of Erik’s blood sang just under his skin, tempting, taunting. Charles’s fangs itched, but he merely placed a close-mouthed kiss against Erik’s Adam’s apple, then another by his collarbone. Erik sighed, a soft, content sound, and wrapped his arms around Charles.

“I love you,” he said, nosing at Charles’s hair.

“I love you, too,” Charles said. _I wish I could love you forever._ But that was the one thing he would never do for Erik. He wouldn’t wish an existence like his own on anyone, least of all the man he loved most in all the world.

After a moment, Erik rolled him over and straddled his hips. He started to stroke a hand down Charles’s belly, then paused. “Oh, I like this. Tilt your head.”

Charles groaned. “Don’t tease.”

“The lighting is good at this angle,” Erik replied, swinging off Charles’s hips to reach for his sketchpad. “Don’t move.”  

Charles heaved a sigh but stayed where he was. “And _then_ will you put your mouth on my cock like you’ve been promising to all morning?”

Erik smiled and sat beside Charles’s legs, his thigh radiating heat against Charles’s calf. “I promise. Now tilt your head.”


	18. tourist AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles gets stuck in a train strike.

Germany is perhaps Charles’ least favorite place at the moment, ranking up there with the Westchester house, the classroom in which his thesis defense took place, and that god-awful strip club in Queens where he’d woken up stinking of vomit on the dance floor, missing his wallet, his watch, and his pants. He’s exhausted, he’s starving, he needed a shower a day and a half ago, and his backpack is killing his shoulders. All he wants at the moment is a bath and a place to sleep where he won’t be afraid of being mugged or shot the moment he closes his eyes.

On further consideration, he probably shouldn’t have woken up this morning. That would’ve made the day infinitely more tolerable.

The train station is emptying rapidly, and Charles dithers for a few minutes outside the information desk, trying to decide whether or not to wait in hopes of a miracle or cut his losses and just find a hostel for the night. There’s a hotel across the way that he can see through the windows, but it’ll probably gouge a chunk out of his remaining funds and he _does_ want to eat at some point. The cheaper hostels will probably be full and he doesn’t particularly want to go wandering about in a foreign city at 11 p.m. at night.

Hiking his backpack further up onto his shoulders, he glances again at the printable itinerary he’d gotten from one of the ticket machines and sighs. The next train out is at 6:15 a.m. Wonderful.

Staying overnight at a train station can’t be too bad, he muses. People do it all the time. He’s only got to keep himself occupied for the next seven hours and then he can hop the first train out of here and leave Germany behind forever. Simple.

A group of shifty-eyed men pass nearby, making Charles clutch the straps of his backpack more tightly. Their cloudy minds read nothing hostile toward him, but he doesn’t want to take any chances. He has a terrible headache from the inhibitors that still haven’t worn off completely twenty-four hours later, and if it came down to it, he’s not entirely sure he could fend off a particularly industrious thief.

He roams down the corridors for a while until he finds a McDonald’s at the end of one hall. It’s still bustling and he sinks willingly into the safety of the crowd. After ordering a ridiculously overpriced sandwich, he settles into a booth and pulls out his laptop.

No wifi, of course. Finding free internet in Europe is an ordeal he still hasn’t gotten used to yet, though he’s been here for a couple of weeks already. Charles surfs aimlessly through some of the notes he’d taken at the conference in Munich, trying to organize his shorthand into something more legible so he can share with Hank later.

Rewriting six pages of notes kills about an hour, and by then, he’s craving some caffeine to keep himself awake. The helpful girl at the counter points him to a McCafé down the hall, so he packs up his things and heads out.

The walk to his new location is uneventful but the way one shabbily-dressed man eyes Charles makes a sliver of unease slip down his spine. Hurrying his step, he arrives to find the café more sparsely populated than the McDonald’s, but there’s one group sitting near the door and the place is brightly lit, which is better than nothing. Ordering a cappuccino, he slides into a corner booth and keeps one eye on his surroundings as he opens up his laptop again and attempts to be productive.

He’s pulled all-nighters before. More than he’d care to name, in fact, but the last seventeen or so hours of train-hopping and rushing from station to station trying to find a way out of Bavaria in the middle of a train strike have more than worn him out. So it’s not too surprising when he begins to nod off despite his best efforts. He stands up every now and then to try to shake off the drowsiness, but the moment he sits down again, it’s like being hit with three sleeping pills at once. Lethargically, he packs away his laptop and slides his backpack as far underneath the table as he can to make it more difficult for a passing thief to grab it. Then he fetches himself an espresso and drinks it standing by his table, hoping it’ll keep him going for the remaining five hours.

Around 3 a.m., an older, balding man appears at the door of the McCafé. Judging by the way he nearly trips over his own feet on the way in, he’s had a bit to drink. Charles watches him sleepily, trying to stay vigilant. But the man seems generally harmless as he orders a cake and a coffee.

At least, he does until he comes over, takes a seat at the table directly next to Charles’ booth, and gives Charles a long look.

Charles is naturally friendly and tends to trust strangers right off the bat. His telepathy is partially to blame for that; he can easily read intentions if he’s truly worried, and that advantage hasn’t trained many common sense self-preservation instincts into him over the years. But now, sitting here in a foreign country with only a fraction of his power at his disposal, he wishes he had more of an idea of what to do.

“Hello,” the man says, turning his chair to face Charles as he takes a bite of his cake.

Charles has been warned time and time again by his friends and by tour books that speaking to strangers when he’s alone in Europe is not a good idea, so he reaches under the table and pretends to fiddle with his backpack. Ignoring the man will probably encourage him to leave, right? He can feel the man’s gaze boring into the side of his face as he stares determinedly at the zipper on his backpack, his heartbeat picking up in his chest.

“Hello,” the man says again, and when Charles doesn’t reply this time, the man stands up. Charles is ready to bolt, but before he can grab his backpack, the man slides into the seat next to Charles, effectively trapping him in the booth.

“Um,” Charles says. “Hello.”

“Head hurts,” the man says, morosely slicing up his cake. His accent is thick and his next words are unintelligible. His breath smells strongly of beer.

“I’m sorry,” Charles manages after a moment. “Can I…help you…?”

The man’s face twists in confusion. “My wife. When will she come?”

“I’ve…no idea. Have you tried calling her?”

The man waves his phone at Charles and lapses into a string of German that Charles can’t make heads or tails of. He tries to inch forward to give the man the hint that he wants to leave the booth, but the stranger is too drunk or too oblivious to notice. After a few long few minutes in which the man rambles about drinking too much and wanting to see his wife, Charles interjects gently, “Can I get out for a moment please? I’d like to get a coffee.”

The man’s eyes brighten. “You want coffee? I’ll get for you.”

“No, I’d rather – please, I’d rather get it for myself.”

“No, I’ll get it.” He pulls out his wallet and shakes a ten euro bill at Charles but makes no move to get out. “Coffee.”

“Yes, coffee.” Charles shifts in his seat, increasingly uncomfortable. Though the man’s been friendly so far, there’s something about him that suggests he could get very ugly, very fast. “It’s quite alright, I can get it myself. If you’d just let me out - ”

“I will get it,” the man insists, growing impatient. “What do you want?”

One of his broad hands reaches down to pat Charles’ knee, and Charles nearly jumps straight up out of his seat. He’s half a second away from clambering over the table in a bid to escape when a hand descends on the man’s shoulder and a new voice says, “Get out.”

A tall, strikingly handsome stranger stands at the end of the table, his brows furrowed as he glares at the balding man. They exchange a few words in German that Charles can’t follow before the balding man slides reluctantly out of his seat and stands up. Charles’ rescuer thrusts the plate of cake in the man’s hands and pushes him away, watching until the man has retreated to the other side of the café before asking, “Are you alright?”

“Perfectly fine,” Charles replies as his heart calms. But he keeps his guard up and presses his leg against his backpack to keep it in place. Handsome, disarming strangers might be worse than old drunks. Damn the conference policy about mandatory inhibitors. Charles hates being uncertain about who he can trust. “Thank you.”

The man nods sharply. “I wouldn’t recommend sitting here for much longer. He’s not the only one in this train station who will take advantage of a tourist.”

“I’m, ah – I’ll be on the first train out of here. I won’t stay much longer.”

“Not much longer?” the man echoes, raising an eyebrow. “That’s almost three hours from now.”

“I’ve been waiting this long already. I’ll be okay.”

He hopes that’ll be enough reassurance to get the man to leave, but he just frowns down at Charles and says, “You don’t have anywhere to go?”

“No.”

“That’s unfortunate,” the man mutters. Then he sits down across from Charles, who stiffens and pulls his backpack just a little closer.

“I’m not interested in your money or your belongings,” the man says, which doesn’t comfort Charles very much. “I’m Erik.”

“Charles,” he returns guardedly.

“What are you doing here, Charles?” Erik asks.

“What are _you_ doing?” Charles retorts, eyes narrowed. He tries to press out toward Erik’s mind, but his telepathy is still muddled.

Rather than annoyed or put-off, Erik looks amused. “I stopped in for a late dinner. Lucky you.”

Charles eyes him warily. Erik looks alright in his jeans, clean t-shirt, and leather jacket. Nothing that screams ‘thief’ or ‘criminal.’ His eyes are clear and lucid, which means he hasn’t been drinking much tonight, if at all. He has a hiking backpack himself and it looks clean and well-kept, so Charles assumes he’s a traveler as well. That goes a small way to putting him at ease.

“Lucky me,” Charles echoes. He nods at the backpack and adds, “Where are you headed?”

“Amsterdam. You?”

“Ah…Brussels.”

Erik smiles. “You’re not a very good liar.”

That startles a laugh out of Charles. “No, I suppose I’m not.” He relies too much on his telepathy to convince people and he knows it.

“You don’t have to tell me if you’re not comfortable with it,” Erik says. “In fact, that’s probably the smarter option. Not that you’ve been making many good choices tonight. What the hell are you doing in a McCafé at three in the morning? There are these things called hotels, you know.”

Charles smiles without really meaning to. “I know. But I’m tight on money and I wasn’t planning to have to get a place tonight. I was supposed to be back in – back home by 10 p.m. and that obviously didn’t happen.”

“Let me guess: you came from Munich.”

The mere mention of the name makes Charles groan. “Did you hear about it?”

“The train workers’ strike, yes.”

“All the delays and the cancelled trains and the confusing, impromptu stops. I had no idea it could get that bad. I’ve been jumping trains for almost twenty hours.”

Erik grimaces. “That’s rough.”

“That’s an understatement. Then I got here and was told there weren’t any trains running until morning.”

“So here you are.”

“Here I am,” Charles agrees with a sigh. “And here I’ll stay for the next…” He check his watch. “Two hours and forty minutes.”

Erik makes a sympathetic noise before pushing his backpack further into the booth. “I’ll stay with you.”

Charles smiles uncertainly. “That’s quite alright. It’s only a couple of hours.”

“I don’t have anywhere else to go either,” Erik says. “Truth be told, I was planning to hang around the train station until morning, too.”

“Why?”

Erik shrugs. “I’m backpacking across Europe. I’ve been doing it for a few months now, and I’ve gotten pretty good at surviving train stations. But if you tell me to, I’ll leave. I promise.”

He certainly sounds honest and he seems like a decent guy, but Charles still hesitates to trust him. He hates being cut off from his telepathy, he really does.

“You can stay for now,” he says at last. “But on that side of the table and keep your hands to yourself.”

Erik holds up both hands. “Fair enough.”

“Good.”

As Charles turns to grab his empty espresso cup to throw it away, his arm accidentally sweeps the silver coaster off the table. Before he can even grab at it, it jerks to a halt in mid-air and floats serenely back to its place, whole and undamaged.

“Careful,” Erik says, his eyes suddenly hooded as they study Charles’ face.

“You’re a mutant!”

“Yes.” Erik’s mouth pulls into a tight line. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“Not at all, my friend! That’s marvelous!” All of Charles’ caution fall away in an instant. He knows he should keep his distance and be uninteresting but other mutants are one thing he has never been able to resist. “I actually just came from a genetics conference in Munich. I was even allowed to give part of a lecture.”

“That’s impressive. Are you also…?”

“Yes. I’m a telepath.”

Erik’s eyes widen. “A telepath.”

“You needn’t worry about your privacy,” Charles assures him. “I’ve been on inhibitors for the conference and they take ages to wear off. Otherwise I could have handled that drunk fellow earlier just fine on my own, no need for knights in shining German armor.”

Erik’s entire demeanor warms. “It’s always nice to meet another mutant.”

“You’ve no idea how much it’s just brightened my day,” Charles says, his smile wholly genuine now. “Or rather, my night.”

Erik leans his elbows against the table, his eyes curious and bright. “So tell me more about this lecture you gave in Munich.”

Charles laughs and shakes his head. “You’ll be sorry you asked. I won’t shut up about it if you get me to start.”

Erik only grins. “So tell me more.”


	19. wrong door AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles thinks he's interviewing an engineer for his company. Erik thinks he's interviewing for a porn shoot.

It was 8 o’clock in the morning and already Charles wanted to put his head down on his desk and take a nap. He’d been up half the night trying to puzzle out what the hell Kurt’s plan was and wondering if he had a good enough hold in the company to avoid a hostile takeover. Yes, he was in good standing with the board members, and yes, they seemed to like him quite a lot, but he _was_ rather young and Kurt’s experience with the company dwarfed his own half a dozen times over. Charles had tossed and turned for hours until finally he’d managed to exhaust himself, only to be startled awake at six-thirty by his obnoxious alarm clock.

Scrolling idly through his email, he yawned and considered asking his secretary to fetch him a cup of coffee. The caffeine would give him a nice boost, but it might make him jittery, too, and he wanted to be clear-headed for the interview process in half an hour. He was pretty sure any prospective employees wouldn’t want to see their potential boss wired up and bouncing in his seat.

He was just contemplating using his lunch hour to sneak a nap in his car when a knock came at his door. He shot a glance at his schedule — no meetings planned. Frowning, he said, “Come in.”

The door opened and Charles glanced up briefly, then did a double-take. The visitor was a tall, handsome man Charles didn’t recognize, sporting tight jeans, a form-fitting white polo, and a leather jacket that stretched prettily across broad, muscled shoulders. His hair was tousled as if the wind had whipped through it several times. Charles could just imagine this man perched on the back of a motorcycle, long legs gripping the sides of the machine, shoulders flexing under that leather jacket with every turn. It was a glorious mental image.  

The new arrival paused at the doorway and asked in a low voice that could only be categorized as a _sexy growl_ , “Is this the interview?”

It took Charles a moment to pick up his slack jaw. “Er — yes. I mean, you’re very early but I suppose it wouldn’t hurt if you — went ahead with it now — I mean, I wasn’t doing much anyway.” Was he blushing? God, it had been far too long since he’d gotten laid. “Um — please, sit down.”

The stranger sat. Or perhaps a better word for it was _lounged_. The stranger arranged himself on the chair opposite of Charles in a lazy sprawl entirely unsuited to a professional interview, one ankle laid across the other knee, leaning back in his chair in a way that exuded confidence, comfort, and dominance. Charles’s head spun.

“What — ” said Charles thickly. He had to clear his throat and try again. “What’s your name?”

“Erik Lehnsherr.”

“Right.” Charles wrote that down very slowly, keeping his eyes on the notepad under his hand. “With a ‘k’?”

“Yes.” Erik-with-a-k gave him a wide, toothy smile. “Most people don’t guess that.”

“Your accent,” explained Charles distractedly. “German, isn’t it? It’s, um, very lovely. Could you spell your last name for me?”

Erik obliged. Charles searched for a moment among the piles of paperwork on his desk for his list of interview questions. Damn, he thought he’d printed the thing yesterday.

“Apologies for the delay,” Charles said, sifting through a thick folder. “While I’m getting myself together, do you have any questions for me?”

“What’s the medical like here?”

“Quite good, I’d say. There’s also a generous vacation package, and we’re fairly lenient if you like working from home.”

“From home?” Erik raised an eyebrow. “That’s new.”

Charles gave him a half-quizzical, half-amused smile and joked, “Yes, well, we do like innovation here.”

Erik studied him closely as he continued to sort through irrelevant papers, which was entirely distracting. His gaze was the sharp, intense sort that seemed to peel back all your layers and see more of you than you normally liked sharing. Charles fought the urge to cover his face with a folder and instead picked his pen back up, tip poised over paper. He’d just wing it.

“Now, Mr. Lehnsherr, tell me a little bit about yourself.”

“Well, I was born in Germany. My family moved to the United States when I was thirteen. I went to NYU and got a degree in political science. Had some pretty big loans to pay off after I graduated, so that’s how I fell into this business.”

“Political science, you said?” Charles repeated with a frown. “So where did you get your engineering experience?”

Erik blinked. “I don’t have any engineering experience.”

“…Oh.” That was rather strange. Charles marked it down. “So what sort of experience _do_ you have? Any specialties?”

Erik rubbed his lower lip with his thumb for a moment. “I’m good at emotion. I’m a decent actor. I like more complex scenes. I’m very good on a motorbike, which some directors like.”

“I’m sorry, what?” What the hell was he going on about?

“I mean, some directors like to set up scenes in garages and stuff. You know, to play into the sexy mechanic trope or something like that. I’ve also got good stamina.” His eyes traced down Charles’s body suggestively. “Are you a top or a bottom?”

Charles choked. “Excuse me?”

“A top or bottom?” Erik repeated calmly, his eyes returning to meet Charles’s. “If you’ve seen my work, you know I prefer to top. And you’re very attractive. I’d like to work with you if possible.”

“I’m sorry, what the _hell_ are you — ” Realization struck Charles like a punch in the gut, and he had to take a moment to catch his breath because how was this _happening_ to him? “Oh my _God_. I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”

Erik frowned. “What?”

Charles stood up, his face burning with embarrassment. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Lehnsherr. This is the office of Xavier Incorporated. I think you must have been looking for the adult entertainment studio, which is next door.”

Erik stared at him for a long moment, eyes wide and startled. “This…wasn’t a scene?” he asked slowly.

“A scene?” Had Erik thought this was part of his audition? “Heavens _no._ My office is hiring engineers, not…not _porn stars_. My God. I’m so sorry for the mix-up. I think you’d better go.”

Erik unfolded himself from the chair in a swift, elegant motion. Not a trace of embarrassment appeared in his expression — he was as cool and composed as he’d been when he’d knocked on the door. Charles could only stare, mortified still, as Erik said easily, “Sorry about that then,” and left.

Once he was gone, Charles sat down heavily and felt his forehead. No fever. Was he asleep? Had that been an extremely vivid dream? What the hell had just happened?

A knock on the door made him jump. “Uh — yes?”

His secretary stuck her head in. “I went out for coffee. Would you like some?” Then she took in his flushed face and frowned. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m — fine.” Charles stared down at where he’d written Erik’s name on his notepad. “Perfectly fine.”

 

*

 

Two weeks later, he happened to be leaning back in his chair behind his desk, gazing out the window idly, when movement below caught his eye. He nearly fell out of his chair when he caught sight of who it was.

Stepping out into the alley between Xavier Inc. and Frost Studios was none other than Erik Lehnsherr. And he was wearing nothing except a pair of low-slung sweatpants that seemed half a second from slipping all the way off.

Charles had always been aware that the actors at Frost’s studio took their smoke breaks in the alley between their buildings. But this was the first time he looked down and actually felt his mouth go a little dry.

As if sensing his gaze, Erik looked up. Their eyes met and caught, and Charles sat frozen. Then Erik’s lips curled up in a smirk and, without looking away, he lifted his lighter and held the flame to the end of his cigarette.

Charles jerked back out of sight. Oh God. Just that brief look had been enough to sear Erik’s half-naked body permanently into his brain. Those broad shoulders and that sinfully narrow waist were going to haunt him for _ages_.

Or so he thought, until Erik sauntered in the following week with a takeout bag from the deli around the corner. It turned out that leather jacket looked even better on the floor of Charles’s office than it did on Erik.


	20. teacher/single parent AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles goes to collect his errant son from school and meets Mr. Lehnsherr.

Charles spent the entire drive over to the school practicing apologies. He couldn’t come off as too belligerent, but neither did he want to accept the school’s chastisement without any argument. Cool. Polite. He had to strike a balance.

He got lost twice on the way there and couldn’t find a parking spot when he arrived. Of course all the handicapped slots had been taken. It seemed that ever since they’d moved to Manhattan, his luck was constantly rotten like that.

In the end, he had to settle for a spot at the back of the lot. By the time he’d wheeled himself into the school and signed in at the front desk, he was already ten minutes late. As an older student led him to Mr. Lehnsherr’s classroom, Charles reached out with his telepathy, skimming across a dozen idle minds before he finally found his son’s.

David recognized his touch immediately. _Dad?_ He was getting better and better at projecting, too, much to Charles’s pleasure.

 _I’m on my way,_ Charles said, sending along a wave of calm. At least David didn’t seem too upset. Hopefully the teachers at this school would be more understanding than the ones in Massachusetts had been.

His guide stopped at the end of one hall and pointed. “Second room on the right.”

He smiled and thanked her before rolling to the door and knocking.

“Come in!”

There was only one other person in the classroom besides David when Charles entered, which was a good sign. Also a good sign was the fact that they were meeting in the classroom and not in an administrator’s office. A bit heartened, Charles shut the door behind him and took a moment to assess his son’s new third-grade teacher.

His first thought was that Mr. Lehnsherr looked as if he’d be more at home on the red carpet in Hollywood or gracing the cover of GQ magazine than in a small classroom decorated with crayon artwork. His slim trousers and form-fitting dress shirt flattered him immensely, and Charles had to take a second to make sure he wasn’t embarrassing himself by drooling everywhere.

His second thought was that Mr. Lehnsherr had a spectacularly orderly mind that Charles very much wanted to explore in greater detail, but he never dove in any deeper without explicit permission, so reluctantly, he withdrew, pulling in his shields a little more tightly to cut off the temptation.

“Mr. Xavier,” Mr. Lehnsherr said, holding out his hand as Charles stopped by David’s desk.

Charles shook it. “Please, call me Charles.”

“Alright.” Lehnsherr leaned against his desk, arms folded. “I assume Principal MacTaggert told you why you were called in?”

“I was told David was being disruptive with his powers.”

“He was.”

Charles shot a look at his son, who was staring sullenly at the top of his desk. “David, is that true?”

“You know it’s hard for me to keep everything in,” he muttered.

Charles sighed. Of course he knew. He’d gone through many of the same problems as a child. “What happened?”

When David didn’t reply, Lehnsherr said, “He read another boy’s mind. The kid ran from the room crying.”

“David!” Charles said, shocked. “What did you do?”

“He said I was a freak,” David said defensively. His hands were balled into fists on his desk. “He said you were a freak, too. So I looked in his head and told everyone he still peed the bed every night and had to sleep with diapers on.”

Charles sighed, half in disapproval, half in relief that it hadn’t been worse. He’d gotten up to much worse when his own powers had manifested after all. “Oh David. I’ve told you before that no matter what people say to you, you can’t just go looking into their minds whenever you want. It’s against the rules.”

“Why? He deserved it.”

“Yes, well, it’s not up to us to decide that, alright? We’ve talked about this. Who’s in charge of the classroom?”

David dropped his glare. “The teacher.”

“That’s right.” Glancing over at Lehnsherr, Charles said, “I’m so sorry about this. I’ll speak to him when we get home, of course.”

Lehnsherr nodded. “As long as you make it clear that he shouldn’t be using his powers in class.”

“Of course.” Charles hesitated, then pushed on. _Just get it over with._ “And what are the consequences of using his powers in class?”

“This meeting.”

Charles blinked. “That’s it?” He’d expected a suspension, or worse, a threat of expulsion.

Lehnsherr raised an eyebrow. “Did you want something more?”

“No, no. We’re just…used to worse, I suppose.”

Lehnsherr’s expression softened. “This isn’t your typical public school, Mr. Xavier. It isn’t our policy to punish mutant children for making mistakes. Though I would recommend introducing David to our after-school mutant guidance program. It may help him learn to get a better handle on his powers.”

Charles had heard of such programs before, but he hadn’t been aware this school had them. He’d been so frazzled with the move that he hadn’t really had time to take a good look at Munroe Elementary, though he’d been meaning to for a while now. It seemed as if they might have struck gold.

“That sounds like a great idea,” he said, the remainder of his anxiety melting away. “Could you get me some information on that?”

“Sure. Give me your email and I’ll send you a link.”

Charles dug into his pocket. “Here, I’ll give you my card. It has my email on it.”

Lehnsherr took it from him and skimmed it. “Professor of Genetics at Columbia University? That’s fancy.”

“Don’t praise me yet, I’ve only just started. I might be rubbish at teaching. By next week, they might have already fired me.”

Lehnsherr cracked a grin. “I hope not.” He slipped the card into his pocket. “If you ever want teaching tips, I’m available for Q&As.”

“Thank you,” Charles said, a bit flustered. Had that been a come on? “I’ll be sure to ask if I have any questions.”

“Yes, don’t be shy.”

Charles smiled back and, after a brief hesitation, reached out to brush lightly against Lehnsherr’s mind. When he wasn’t immediately rejected, he said, _My number’s on that card, too. Don’t be afraid to use it._

To his credit, Lehnsherr only startled minutely. He fixed Charles with a bewildered look for a couple of seconds before his grin widened.

“Alright,” he said, “I don’t want to keep you too long. You’re free to go.”

David hopped out of the desk in a flash and grabbed his backpack. As he bolted toward the door, Charles extended his hand and said warmly, “I hope to hear from you soon, Mr. Lehnsherr.”

“Erik,” Lehnsherr corrected. He smiled and reached down to shake Charles’s hand again. This time his touch lingered. “I look forward to getting to know you better.”

Oh yes, Charles thought with a thrill of pleasure. They might have struck gold indeed.


	21. spy/hitman AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik meets a stranger on the train who has a proposition.

The man who sat down across from Erik just as the train pulled away from the station was young, clean-shaven, and neatly dressed. He wore a business suit as Erik did and carried a small black briefcase. Apart from his wind-tousled hair, he was remarkably put-together compared to the rest of the passengers on this car, all of whom were either sleeping or in the process of dozing off. The stranger’s generous mouth quirked in a friendly smile as he settled himself.

He was undoubtedly MI6. Or Interpol. Certainly not a civilian, and his choosing the seat across from Erik’s was certainly not a coincidence.

Erik ran his power subtly over the man. No weapons to speak of, only the usual metal accessories that almost everyone carried: watch, belt buckle, money clip. No wires either. Had the man really been foolish enough to come alone unarmed and without backup?

“Hello,” said the stranger cheerily. “Would you mind plugging in my phone? Outlet’s on your side, I’m afraid.”

Definitely MI6, with a crisp accent like that. Erik eyed him warily for a long moment, trying to puzzle out his game. But obliging seemed harmless enough, so Erik took the proffered cord and plugged it in.

“Ah, thank you,” the man said, smiling. “I’ve been running around all day and haven’t had a second to sit down somewhere and charge my phone. The blasted battery doesn’t last nearly as long as it used to. Must be because I’ve dropped it so many times.”

“Mm,” said Erik noncommittally as he scanned over the other passengers again. He was sure he’d watched his tail as he’d boarded this train. How had MI6 tracked him? He would have noticed if they’d planted any bugs on his person, and everyone on this car had passed his careful scrutiny.

If he disembarked at the next stop, he’d have to wait another hour and a half for the next train to Munich. That wouldn’t give him enough time to set up. But every instinct in him urged him to cut his losses and disappear while he could. No hit was worth getting on the wrong side of MI6.

The MI6 agent smiled. “Stay, Erik. You’ll want to hear what I have to say.”

He stiffened. The knife hidden in his boot began to extract itself from its sheath. “I don’t think so.”

“I’m not here to hurt you or stop you. I’m here to make you an offer.”

“An offer.”

“Yes.” The man pointed to his briefcase. “May I?”

After a brief hesitation, Erik nodded tightly. The man laid the case on the table and opened it. Inside lay a single, thin manila folder.

“What is it?” Erik asked.

“Intel on a man named Sebastian Shaw. You may know him as Klaus Schmidt.”

Erik’s eyes darted to the folder, startled. He tried to cover up his surprise by glaring up at the agent, but the man’s smile widened knowingly.

“I would like to propose a partnership,” he said. “I’ve been tasked with hunting down Schmidt, but I’m afraid I’ve been left rather short-handed. I could use some help. You are a veritable expert in Mr. Schmidt, are you not?”

“You could say that.” A fourteen-year vendetta probably counted as expertise.

“Excellent. How would you like to collaborate?”

Erik scrutinized him. A man like Schmidt was a high-value target. MI6 wouldn’t send a rookie after him. A 00 perhaps? But the man sitting across from him looked altogether too young and soft to be a steely-eyed killer. Erik could more easily imagine a book in his hand than a gun.

“I’m not interested in capturing Schmidt alive,” Erik said at last. “If you know me at all, you know that.”

“I do.”

“Then this is a kill mission?”

“My superiors ordered me to bring him in for questioning.”  

“Then why come to me?”

“Because I’m afraid MI6 is interested in offering Schmidt a deal. A pardon, if he gives up his associates.”

Erik snarled. “He deserves to _die_ for what he’s done, not a pardon. Does MI6 think he’d ever keep a promise to walk the straight and narrow?”

“They believe he could, if properly motivated.” The agent paused. “I happen to disagree.”

“You want me to kill him,” Erik realized.

The agent grimaced. “I’ve read Schmidt’s file. I know what he’s done. He needs to be stopped, and I think you’re the one to do it.”

“Afraid to get your hands dirty, 007?” Erik asked with an ironic smile.

“It’s 009 actually,” the man said coolly. “And no, I’d do it myself if it came down to it. But as I said, I read Schmidt’s file. I know you have a…special interest in the matter.”

“I have a reason to want the bastard dead, you mean,” Erik said flatly.

“Yes.”

“So — you’re helping me find Schmidt. And in return you get…”

“Assurance that Schmidt will never hurt anyone again.” 009 smiled. “A fair deal, I think.”

It seemed too good to be true. An MI6 agent showing up out of the blue with information on Schmidt, with an offer that cost Erik nothing. It had to be a set-up. Erik couldn’t believe otherwise.

“It’s a six-hour ride to Munich,” 009 said, closing the briefcase again and locking it. “You have time to think it over.”

Erik eyed the case speculatively. “I could just kill you and take the briefcase.”

“You could. I hope you like genetic theory then.”

“What?”

“You didn’t really think I’d bring sensitive intel like that here?”

Erik’s eyes narrowed. “The folder…”

“I printed a couple of chapters of my favorite textbook on genetic theory.” 009 pushed the case to him. “You’re welcome to it.”

That was…equal parts clever and infuriating. Erik hated being played.

“Alright,” he said grudgingly. “How will this work?”

“Well, generally, friendships begin with a handshake.” 009 reached across the table for him. “You can call me Charles.”

Erik took Charles’s callused hand in his own. “Erik.”


	22. writer/editor AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles writes. Erik edits.

Erik read Charles’s new manuscript in a night. Then he read it again, more slowly this time, red pen slashing furiously away. Then he slept for half of the next day and spent the afternoon going over all his notes and comments, cutting out the ones that made less sense now in the light of day. By sundown, he’d finished his preliminary analysis and summoned his phone over to his hand from where it lay on the table across the room.

Charles picked up on the third ring, sounding slightly out of breath. “Hello, Erik. Have you read it?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t sound happy. Was it rubbish?”

“It was decent,” Erik said grudgingly, which was high praise coming from him. Charles deserved it: as always, his style was snappy, his writing tight and precise, his plot intricate and gripping. From one New York Times bestseller to the next, Erik thought with a sigh. Charles’s fans would go rabid for this one.

“That’s good,” said Charles cheerily. “Should I come in tomorrow to review your comments or do you want to spend another day with it first?”

“Come in tomorrow. We’ll talk it over.”

“Excellent. Sorry I’m a bit distracted – I’ve got company over and we’re – ”

A woman’s voice purred, “Charles, get off the phone and come back to bed. We haven’t got all day you kn – ”

Erik hung up. Damned iPhones, he thought angrily. Didn’t even give him the satisfaction of emphatically slamming the phone receiver back into the cradle.

His phone _dinged_ a minute later. **_Charles:_** _sorry about that!_

Erik texted back, _stop answering your fucking phone when you’re having sex_ , and tossed his phone irritably onto the other side of his desk.

Early the next morning, Charles showed up at his apartment bearing coffee and breakfast. “Hello,” he said affably. “One pumpkin spice latte for you and half a dozen glazed donuts.”

“Sometimes I don’t hate you,” Erik said as he took both.

Charles laughed. “Don’t kid yourself – you don’t hate me at all. Now where’s my manuscript? Let me see how badly you’ve torn it apart.”

They settled in the study as they usually did, Erik behind his desk and Charles lounging on the couch in front of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf. As Charles reviewed the comments, Erik got started on another manuscript from an author he didn’t know. A newcomer undoubtedly, he thought as he wrinkled his nose at the first chapter. How this man’s literary agent had allowed such a manuscript to pass, he had no fucking idea.

After a while, Charles laid the papers in his hand down and thumbed the frame of his glasses. “Erik, can I talk to you for a moment?”

Erik glanced over the screen of his computer. “Yeah.”

“Tell me the truth: are you really alright with this story?”

“Have I ever pulled my punches?” Erik retorted.

“Well – no. But you seem less and less enthusiastic about my writing lately. Have I taken a wrong turn somewhere?”

Charles had noticed? Erik had thought he’d done a relatively good job of hiding his growing discontent. Evidently not.

With a sigh, he shut his laptop and leaned back in his chair. “Charles, have you ever thought of writing something other than mystery novels and thrillers?”

“Like what?”

“Like something serious,” Erik said bluntly. “Something nonfiction. Something _political_. You’re the best writer I know, Charles, and you know I wouldn’t say that lightly. You’ve got a way with words that twists people up inside and takes their breath away. You ought to be writing treatises. Speaking out against social inequalities in scathing editorials. You’ve got a massive fanbase already – with your influence, you could turn tides. You’ve got _potential._ And yet you waste your time on this…” He waved a hand at Charles in general. “…this fluff.”

For a long minute, Charles just stared at him, his head cocked quizzically. Erik watched with some apprehension as Charles’s mouth pressed into a thin line – was he angry? Upset? Confused?

Finally he said, “I don’t consider doing what I love a waste of time.”

Erik frowned. “You know what I mean.”

“I do.” His tone was cool now in a way Erik had never heard it before. “And I have to say, Erik, after three years of letting you edit my books, I thought you knew my writing better than that.”

“What?”

“Have you considered that I don’t need to be writing treatises or angry editorials to be contributing to the mutant cause? Do you know how many mutant readers write to me every month telling me how pleased they are with the positive portrayals of mutants in my books?” Jerkily, Charles took off his glasses and transferred from the couch to his chair, grabbing the pages of his manuscript as he did. “Pop culture is stronger than you think, Erik. And if you’d rather read something _serious_ rather than my fluff, then perhaps it’s time I found a new editor.”

He wheeled out, and Erik let him, dumbfounded. In all the time they’d known each other, Charles had never raised his voice like that, not once. _Erik_ was the one always losing his temper, and Charles was the calm center keeping him in check. Now Erik felt off-balance and wrong-footed, like he’d been climbing stairs and had tried to take a step that wasn’t there.

His productivity for the rest of the day was abysmal. He tried to keep reading the manuscript he’d started earlier, but his attention continued to wander back to the angry slant of Charles’s mouth as he’d told him off, to the Charles’s threat of finding a new editor.

It wasn’t any secret that Charles was Erik’s favorite author to read and review. They got along well, Charles was easy to work with, and Erik continually pushed him to do better. Add in the fact that Erik was more than halfway in love with him, and the possibility of losing Charles to someone else became unbearable.

At half past five, he grabbed his keys and his coat and headed out. The trek to Charles’s apartment wasn’t long – fifteen minutes at most if he caught the train just as he arrived at the station, which he did today. He considered calling ahead of time, but he wasn’t sure if Charles might still be upset with him and he didn’t want to risk having that conversation over the phone.

Thankfully the lights were on when he arrived. Erik rang the doorbell and tucked his hands in his pockets, extending his powers out along the apartment to find the distinct metal structure of Charles’s wheelchair. After a long pause, it jerked into motion, rolling down the hall toward the door.

Charles opened the door and peered out. At least he was wearing clothes, Erik thought with some relief. He wasn’t sure what the hell he’d have done if he’d come over in the middle of one of Charles’s trysts.

“What are you doing here?” Charles asked, his brow furrowing.

“I wanted to come and…talk.”

Charles arched a sharp eyebrow. “I think you talked enough this morning.”

“I wanted to come and say I’m sorry,” Erik amended. “I should never have called what you write fluff. I know it’s more than that. I was just…frustrated.”

“Frustrated.”

“Reading the papers every day. Watching mutantphobic assholes clog up the news. I keep wanting someone to step in and write for the other side for once. Our side. And like I said earlier, you’re the best writer I know.”

The firm set of Charles’s mouth softened. “I’m flattered by that, Erik. Really, I am. But I like what I do, and you know it.” He paused. “Why don’t _you_ write for the other side?”

Erik huffed. As if he hadn’t considered it before. “How many papers would agree to publish any of my stuff? You know I’ve got a temper. Half of what I write wouldn’t make it past the profanity censors. But you – you’re a more moderate voice. You’re good at making people listen.”

“But you’ve got excellent ideas. We’ve debated mutant politics before, and I’m always impressed by how good you are at argumentation. You’d make an exceptional rhetor.”

“An exceptionally foul-mouthed one,” Erik said with a quirk of his lips.

Charles smiled ruefully. “There’s that.” He sat without speaking for a moment, his expression thoughtful. Then he suggested, “What do you think about a collaboration then?”

Erik blinked. “A collab?”

“Your ideas, my writing. A good combination, wouldn’t you think?”

Erik’s eyes widened. A collab…That could work. That could work very well, actually. “You’d do that?”

“Well, I won’t give up writing my fluff. I love my work too much to do that. But I’d be more than willing to take up a side project with you. God knows I’ve got the time.” At Erik’s startled expression, he laughed and swung the door open wider. “Why don’t you come in so we can talk about it? I ordered some Chinese and there should be more than enough for two.”

Why not? Erik smiled slowly and stepped in. “Alright.”


	23. random boyfriends AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles doses with suppressants to keep his powers in check. Erik finds out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw drug use

Charles lay on his back on his bed, drifting. The ceiling swam in odd patterns above him, sometimes spiraling evenly, sometimes squirming around like snakes in a pit. He desperately wanted a drink of water, but he wasn’t sure his legs would carry him. His mouth tasted like he’d swallowed tar and his stomach was cramping fiercely, but at least his head was quiet. It was _quiet_ now, and that relief rendered all his discomfort irrelevant.

He rolled his head lazily to the side to glance at his watch. With the hands twisting confusingly in front of his eyes, it took him a long minute to figure out that it was 5:38. It had been thirty minutes since he’d tossed back the suppressants with a glass of water, which meant he had roughly another half hour of silence left before the voices came creeping back.

He closed his eyes and sighed. These reprieves were always too short, and these days, the drugs wore off faster and faster. He’d have to up the dose soon, he thought dreamily. Perhaps two pinches of powder next time rather than only one…

“Charles. Charles!”

His eyes snapped open. Erik was standing above him, shaking his shoulder, and no, that wasn’t right – no one should be in his house when he was like this, no one was supposed to know…

“Fuck,” he said blearily. Had he somehow overslept? “What time…”

“It’s six.”

Charles blinked in confusion. “But…you weren’t supposed to come over until eight…”

“I know. I came early.” Erik moved to the nightstand, and Charles knew what he saw there: a small packet of blue suppressant powder and an empty glass of water, both of which Charles had been planning to hide before Erik came. He closed his eyes with a flush of shame, waiting for the shock, the disgust. Erik had never made it a secret that he hated people who dosed, and he was never a man to make exceptions, even for his childhood friend and lover.

Charles wasn’t sure he could stand being hated by Erik. He wanted to curl up into a ball and squeeze his eyes shut until Erik, the world, everything went away. But the drugs in his system made movement difficult; even sitting up seemed beyond him now. All he could do was lie there, humiliated and terrified, his heart thumping painfully in his chest.

“How much did you take?” Erik asked quietly, no trace of anger at all in his eyes or his voice. “Are you alright?”

“Just one pinch. I’m okay.”

“Okay.” Erik sat down on the edge of the bed beside Charles’s thigh. “How long until it wears off?” He still sounded maddeningly calm, which was starting to freak Charles out a bit.

“About…ten minutes, I think.”

“Okay.”

He didn’t say anything more, just sat with his hand on Charles’s knee. The silence that had so comforted Charles just minutes before chafed at him now. He wanted desperately to touch Erik’s mind, to puzzle out what he was thinking, why he was here, why the _hell_ he wasn’t shouting at Charles for being so fucking stupid and reckless. But the fog around his head was impenetrable, and Charles had to resort to trying to read Erik’s expression, which was like trying to read a face carved in stone.

Every minute that passed burned away a little more of the quiet fog. Gradually he began to pick up faint emotion from Erik, the vague sensation bolstered by the physical anchor of Erik’s hand on Charles’s knee. A muted anger, sadness, regret, frustration – all expected, but Erik seemed less upset at Charles directly and more upset at…Charles couldn’t tell what. But it was clear enough that he wasn’t planning on strangling Charles to death over this, and that was a relief in and of itself.

After a while, Erik shifted up to pull Charles’s head into his lap and brushed the hair back from his eyes. “Are you sober now?”

He thought about saying no, but the thought of lying to Erik now on top of everything else made him feel sick. “Almost. Pretty much.”

“Alright. I want to talk to you about something.”

Charles squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“I’m so sorry. I know how you feel about dosing and I know…” He hid his face against Erik’s thigh, ashamed. “I fucked up.”

Instead of revulsion, Erik’s reply was a wordless swell of affection. “I want to help you.”

Erik didn’t seem to understand. “Erik, this isn’t a one-time thing. I’ve been dosing for months. Almost…” He swallowed. “Almost half a year.”

“I know.”

He stilled. “You know?”

“Charles, I work at a mutant advocacy center. I know the signs when someone’s dosing. I’ve known for a while now.”

“But you haven’t…you never said anything…”

“I was trying to figure out a way to approach you. I didn’t want to come at you angry. I’ve seen enough to know that never works. And I _was_ angry, for a long time.”

“But not anymore?”

“No.” Erik carded his fingers gently through Charles’s hair for a moment. Then he admitted ruefully, “Well, yes. But I’m not going to let that stop me from trying to help you. I brought pamphlets for programs. Anonymous and otherwise. Whatever you need, I’ll try to provide.”

It was more than he deserved, so much more. Eyes stinging, Charles said hoarsely, “I don’t deserve you.”

Erik bent and kissed his sweaty forehead, lingering and sweet. “You’ll be okay. I promise. I love you.”

Charles had never believed it more than he did in that moment. He gripped Erik’s hand tightly and said, his voice cracking, “I love you, too.”


	24. husbands AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik's having a bad day. Thankfully his husband is there to make it better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for madneto.

When Erik got home, the apartment was silent. That made him frown; it was well past six and Charles should have been long home by now. But only their cat Magneto prowled up to greet him as he shed his coat in the cramped doorway and hung it up. There was Charles’s black jacket on the hook – patched twice in the elbow, and the patch was coming off again, Erik noted with a sigh – so he must have been home after all. But the usual telepathic greeting failed to come. Faintly worried, Erik stripped off his gloves and bent to scratch briefly behind Magneto’s ears before heading down the short, dark hall.

The scene he came upon in the living room made him stop in the doorway for a moment to just look. The TV flickered in the background, muted. A slew of books lay open on the table, colorful sticky notes jutting out from dozens of pages. A mug of tea, probably long cold by now, sat on Charles’s dog-eared copy of _The Second Sex._

Charles himself lay sprawled on the couch, an open book lying face-down on his chest, glasses perched crookedly on his nose, uncapped highlighter still in hand. He’d obviously fallen asleep while reading, probably mid-sentence. Erik’s chest squeezed tight with affection as he took a minute to just gaze at the way Charles’s hair fell messily over his forehead, the way Charles slept with his mouth open. Sometimes Erik still couldn’t believe he got to come home to this.

But on the heels of affection came guilt. The circles under Charles’s eyes were as dark as bruises in the unforgiving light of the lamp on the side table. He looked like he’d lost some weight again, his cheekbones sharper than Erik remembered. And he was wearing those threadbare fingerless gloves that he wouldn’t let Erik throw away because these days he never let Erik throw anything away. They couldn’t afford it.

Yanking at his tie, he sat down on the end of the narrow couch next to Charles’s feet and laid a hand on Charles’s knee. Almost instantly, Charles startled awake, eyes muddled and confused for a moment before they landed on Erik.

“Hi,” said Erik.

Charles yawned and stretched his hands over his head. “Hello, darling. You’re home early today.”

“It’s six-thirty.”

“What!” Charles bolted up so quickly his glasses nearly tumbled off his nose. “Dammit. I meant to get up to make you dinner. I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for,” Erik said, shifting closer. “We’ll order in.”

“I suppose. I cut out a coupon earlier for Papa John’s. We could get pizza.”

Erik bowed his head, a sudden lump in his throat. “Yeah,” he forced out. “Pizza sounds good.”

Charles touched his shoulder. “Erik, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You know I can tell when you’re lying.”

Annoyed, Erik stood up. “It’s nothing. Do you remember the number of the pizza place?”

He could feel Charles’s concerned gaze on his back but Charles said only, “It’s pinned to the fridge under the cat magnet.”

Erik stalked to their kitchen (really, it could only qualify as a closet on the best of days) and squeezed past the dishwasher to reach the fridge. Clustered on its gray surface were a dozen photos and various numbers and menus for takeout places. Erik paused for a moment and glanced over the pictures. There was him and Charles in their college dorm room, flicking paperclips at each other across the room. There was one of Erik spraying Charles with a hose at the charity car wash they’d organized in their junior year. There was one of them bundled up at a football game in December, Charles’s nose so red Erik had almost thought it would fall off. And there was one of them on the day they’d moved into this tiny apartment, flushed and excited with the prospect of owning something wholly _theirs_.

He touched the last photo, feeling unbearably tired. That had only been two years ago but already it felt like a lifetime.

“Erik?”

He snatched the phone number off the fridge and returned to the living room. “Cheese?”

“Yes.” Charles had sat up and closed some of his books. “Erik, are you all right?”

“Mm, fine,” he muttered as he hunted around for the cordless phone. A quick search with his powers revealed it to be wedged in between two of the cushions on the couch.

“Hold off on the pizza for a moment and sit down, will you?”

“Just give me a second – ”

“Erik.”

He glanced up impatiently. Charles patted the empty space beside him and waited expectantly until Erik sighed and gave in.

“Long day at work?” Charles asked, pulling the phone and slip of paper out of Erik’s hands and setting them on the table.

“It was pretty awful,” Erik admitted. “Some interns fucked up a design and I had to spend the whole day fixing it. It put us almost a full day behind schedule.”

“But that’s not what’s really bothering you.”

Sometimes living with a telepath was a very trying experience. “Don’t read my mind like that.”

“I didn’t. Believe it or not, Erik, I can read you well enough without my powers.”

He blew a long, unsteady breath out through clenched teeth. After a moment of silence, Charles’s hand came up and dug into the knot at the back of his neck, releasing some of the tension that was strung tight along his shoulders. “You don’t have to tell me,” Charles said quietly. “I just want you to know you can talk to me if you want.”

It was Charles’s gentleness that broke his pride. “I’m sorry,” Erik blurted out.

Charles stared at him, bewildered. “Why?”

“Because our apartment is practically smaller than your old walk-in closet. Because you couldn’t go straight to grad school like you wanted and now you’re working two jobs to try to save up money for it. Because you have to cut out goddamned coupons from the paper so we can actually feed ourselves, and I can’t take you out to a fancy restaurant every night like you deserve.”

His face burned with shame. When he had asked Charles to trust him, to choose _him_ and not his grand inheritance, he had thought they’d be able to survive in relative comfort. They were smart, well-educated college graduates. Of course they’d be able to make a living, support themselves. But he’d never imagined this: sitting in their squalid, drafty apartment, cold because the rattling radiator had given out again, listening to the _drip drip_ of the leaky faucet in the bathroom.

“Oh Erik,” Charles breathed. “Darling.” He pulled Erik close and hugged him tightly. “Don’t be sorry for that. I don’t care if the faucet’s leaking. I don’t care that our apartment is practically as small as our old dorm room. And I don’t care about having to hunt for coupons – it’s quite fun actually, you should try it sometime. All I care about is having you here, with me. Everything else is just the icing on the cake.”

He’d known Charles would say that. And yet he still felt miserable. “I still wish – ”

Charles kissed him hard. It was sudden enough that it took Erik’s breath away, so when Charles murmured, “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than in this drafty old apartment with you,” he couldn’t even retort. He just let Charles pull him down onto the couch and arrange them so that Charles’s head was pillowed against his chest, their arms wrapped snugly around each other.

“You just had a bad day at work,” Charles said, nuzzling at his collar. “You’ll feel better tomorrow morning.”

Erik rested his chin on Charles’s head. “You really don’t regret marrying me?”

“God no. Marrying you was the best decision of my life.”

“Even after your mother cut you off?”

“Even then. Especially then. Until I met you, I spent my whole life trying to please her. It was about time I did something for myself.”

Erik tightened his arms around him. “I don’t deserve you.”

“No, you don’t.” Charles tilted his head back to give Erik a cheeky grin. “But I could easily be convinced otherwise.”

Erik grinned back and ducked his head to suck at Charles’s neck until he moaned. Yes, their apartment was cold and the walls were too thin and the leaky faucet drove Erik mad, but it was home. They’d bought it together and filled it with little things that would always make it _theirs_ and Erik wouldn’t give it up for anything.

“Much as I love you,” Charles gasped, “my back wouldn’t forgive me if we had sex on the couch. Bed?”

Erik scraped his teeth along Charles’s collarbone and then shoved himself up off the couch with a grin. “Race you there.”


	25. firefly AU snippet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little snippet from a Firefly AU I never finished. Featuring Mal!Erik and Inara!Charles.

Erik is not a big fan of parties. He’s not a big fan of people in general, and gathering a whole bunch of them together in one place and shoving food and alcohol into their hands seems like a recipe for disaster. But there’s not a lot he won’t do for a payday, and if the job requires him to comb his hair and don the dusty old suit at the very back of his closet, he won’t say a word.

Kitty is more than happy to accompany him. It’s not as if they have many social events out here in Border space, especially on a ship like theirs, so naturally Kitty leaps at the chance to get some fresh air and see new faces. Erik likes the comfort of the _Magneto’s_ solid, steady walls, but he knows the others can get stir-crazy if they don’t get off and stretch their legs periodically. So he watches as Kitty gets properly dolled up with Angel’s help and then offers his arm to her as they head out the cargo bay doors.

The party is already in full-swing when they arrive, people milling about in the ballroom chattering amongst themselves and consuming everything in sight. Kitty stands near the door for a full minute, clutching his arm in delight as she takes in the sparkling chandeliers and dazzling indoor fountain.

“I bet Charles goes to parties like these all the time,” she says admiringly, her eyes bright as she gazes upward at the gold-painted ceiling. “Do you think he’s here?”

“Probably not,” Erik replies, even though he’s almost certain Charles is. Big social event like this—a man like Sebastian Shaw would hardly miss it. He’s here to make contact with a man for business, it’s true, but he can’t deny that part of the reason he came was to interrupt Shaw’s evening, even if only briefly. Erik’s perfectly capable of being petty like that. 

He scans the crowd as they move further into the room, looking for the red sash that’s supposed to distinguish his contact from everyone else. He’d assumed that red would be an easy color to pick out in a crowd, but he’d underestimated the sheer spectrum of colors on display at a fancy party like this; there are ladies parading by in every shade of red imaginable, and several men drift by in rainbow get-ups that hurt Erik’s eyes to even glance at.

Deciding it may be easier to let his contact seek him out, he allows Kitty to drag him over to the table laden with refreshments and watches idly as she dips everything she can into the chocolate fountain. She’s handing him a chocolate-encased scone when her eyes fly over his shoulder and her smile brightens. “Charles!”

He whips around so quickly he nearly knocks the whole table over. Behind him, reaching for a glass of champagne, is Charles. Erik can’t help but notice immediately what he’s wearing: attired in an all-black tuxedo that’s perfectly tailored to his measurements, Charles looks sleek and aloof and sophisticated enough to make everyone else in the room seem like flamboyant buffoons in comparison. He’s dressed much more plainly than some of the other guests but at the same time much more elegantly, and all it takes is one look at him to make Erik’s mouth go dry.

“Kitty,” Charles greets, though he doesn’t sound surprised. He must have spotted them as they came in. “Captain,” he adds, inclining his head at Erik. “What are you two doing here?”

Kitty leans forward and whispers conspiratorially, “We’re on a job.”

“Ah.” Charles’ eyes flick over to Erik. “I didn’t know your job would involve a party like this. Breaking pool cues over people’s heads in dingy bars seems more your speed.”

“The night’s still young,” Erik tells him as coolly as he can manage, once he’s mustered up enough breath to speak.

“Are you here with your client?” Kitty asks, peering around at the crowd. “Who is he? Or she?”

“I’m here with a client, yes. I was just coming over to fetch some champagne for us both. He’s just over…” Charles frowns as he looks out into the sea of faces. “Well, I left him over by the dancers.”

Erik sees Sebastian Shaw coming before Charles does and bristles as Shaw appears at Charles’ shoulder. Without missing a beat, he slides his arm casually around Charles’ waist, the gesture practiced and intimate. “Charles, dear, you didn’t tell me your friends were coming.”

Charles turns toward him and smiles. “I didn’t know they were coming myself.”

Shaw’s own smile is coldly courteous as he turns it on Erik. “Captain Lehnsherr. Fancy finding you here.”

“Truly a coincidence,” Erik says flatly. He knows he’s scowling but he can’t help it. He doesn’t even particularly _want_ to help it.

Shaw is, as expected, completely unruffled by his glare. “You’re looking well. And this is…?”

“Kitty,” Erik says before she can answer. “Kitty Pryde.”

“I didn’t know captains of little ships like yours were in the habit of taking on so many pretty faces,” Shaw remarks. “But it’s something to look at in all that black space, I suppose.”

“Kitty is our pilot,” Charles says quickly, before Erik or Kitty snap. “She’s the best pilot for twenty sectors around, isn’t she?”

Kitty, who’d begun to frown at Shaw’s comment, smiles again. “ _Well_ …”

“She’s the best gorram pilot in the whole ’verse,” Erik growls. “I’d stake my ship on that.”

That draws out a blush. “Now you’re just buttering me up, Captain.”

“I don’t think Captain Lehnsherr butters anyone up, my dear,” Shaw says pleasantly. “He seems a rather serious and simple sort to me.” At Erik’s deepening scowl, he adds, “I mean no insult, Captain: there’s nothing wrong with being simple. In fact, I think it’s admirable. Others, such as Charles and myself, are merely accustomed to a more…shall we say, _varied_ lifestyle.”

He knows Shaw’s words are barbs crafted to pierce his ego, but the knowledge doesn’t lessen the sting. Much as he’d like it to be different, he _isn’t_ from Charles’ world. That much is pure, unchangeable fact. But it doesn’t stop him from _wanting_ , and he hates himself for it sometimes.

“You must see such variety on this one planet,” he retorts with more of a sneer than he intends. “More than I see on my little ship anyway. How I envy you.”

Shaw’s lip curls. “Indeed.”  

The last thing he wants to do is walk away then and leave Charles alone with the asshole, but out of the corner of his eye, he spots a man threading his way through the crowd toward him, a slash of red silk across his chest. Kitty notices the man at the same time he does and tugs on his sleeve.

“Excuse us,” Erik says stiffly.

Shaw’s unpleasant smile returns as soon as he realizes Erik is retreating. “Have a good evening, Captain, Miss Pryde. I assure you I shall enjoy mine.”

The next time they cross paths, Erik’s going to kill him, or at least break his nose. How that smug bastard has survived so long without someone knocking him flat on his ass is a mystery.


	26. football AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumors are that Jose Mourinho wants Charles for Chelsea, and Erik is indignant.

There is a problem and his name is Jose Mourinho.

Erik realizes it for the first time on Sunday morning after their match against Sunderland, when the top news headline on his tablet isn’t “Arsenal Thrashes Sunderland 4-0” but “The Special One Wants What He Wants (and what he wants is Charles Xavier)”. He scrolls through the article with a frown, fully expecting the whole thing to be chock-full of half-baked rumors concocted by some reporter desperate for an interesting headline. But a few paragraphs in and a few detailed quotes later, he starts to get the feeling that Mourinho is deadly serious.

His first reaction is the laugh and go wake Charles up (something of a risk, since Charles can be notoriously cranky if he’s woken up early on mornings he expected to sleep in) so he can show Charles the rumors. As expected, Charles grumbles at him to fuck off and also mutters something about how Mourinho can have him when he’s dead.

That should be the end of that, but it isn’t. As the transfer window closes in on them, the gossip mill churns industriously on, and the possibility of Chelsea making a real bid for Charles’s contract grows daily. Erik knows he shouldn’t be worried – Wenger has given no indication that he’s anything but pleased with Charles’s performance, and the chances of Charles leaving willingly is less than nil – but still, he can’t help but keep an eye on the rumors. Charles’s contract _is_ coming up for renewal and Chelsea _does_ have the funds…

“I can’t believe you’re working yourself up over this,” Charles says as they jog around the pitch during training one early morning. “I’m obviously not going anywhere.”

“Still,” Erik grumbles. “I wish Mourinho would shut up about it. He’s obsessed with you.”

Charles grins. “What can I say? I made an impression on him at Soccer Aid.”

“I wish you hadn’t.” He knows Charles has no intention of leaving Arsenal – and leaving him – but there’s something magnetic about Mourinho, good or bad. He has a way with some players, and Erik isn’t forgetting the way Charles was kind of charmed by Mourinho, too, during the few days they’d been involved in Soccer Aid. And he and Mourinho hadn’t even been on the same _team_.

As the transfer window opens in January, Erik keeps his eyes open for any transfer rumors tagged with Charles’s name. There are a few on him as well, the usual unfounded headlines like, “Lehnsherr unhappy at Arsenal?” and “Unrest with Arsenal’s Temperamental Talent!!” But no one’s paying that any attention when the big story is Chelsea’s interest in Arsenal’s star midfielder Charles Xavier and to what lengths Chelsea boss Mourinho is willing to go to get him.

“You aren’t going anywhere, right?” Wilshere asks Charles in the locker room as they lace up their boots. “I mean, if you went to Chelsea we might have to burn your kit.”

“For the millionth time, I’m not going anywhere,” Charles huffs.

They play an uninspired match against Everton and immediately afterwards, the headlines read, “Wenger looking to unload aging Xavier? Mourinho waiting in the stands to snap him up?”

“Aging!” Charles yells in outrage at the paper when he sees it. He’s laughing in that way that says he’s half mad, half amused. “I’m twenty-eight, you wanker!”

“At least if you’re aging, Mourinho won’t want you as bad,” Erik points out, which earns him a scathing look and a pointed reminder that he’s two years older than Charles, thank you very much.

“You don’t think Charles will leave,” Özil says to him in German the next morning at practice. It’s more of a question than a statement.  

Erik stares at him. “Of course he’s not leaving. Why the hell would he want to leave?”

Özil half-shrugs and laces up his second boot. “I didn’t want to leave Madrid either but here I am. Things happen.”

He grabs his shin guards and heads off to join the others in a scrimmage on the pitch, leaving Erik to really start to worry about Charles’s suspected departure. He knows Charles doesn’t want to leave, knows Charles has no reason to leave, but sometimes it isn’t the player’s decision. Sometimes the club needs to move some finances around, sometimes there’s someone else they want more, and Charles, with all his star power and talent, could fetch a hefty price.

When he says as much to Charles, he finds himself pinned to their bed and kissed all over, and afterwards, when he’s lying there panting and all fucked out, Charles nips him on the shoulder and says, just a touch fondly, “It’s sweet of you to worry so much, but you’re not getting rid of me that easy. Honestly, this transfer season’s so quiet they’re grasping at straws for anything remotely interesting. As soon as – I don’t know – there’s news about Torres moving clubs again, they’ll forget all about me.”

Erik nips at him back, making Charles push his hand into Erik’s hair to pull his mouth away from the sensitive skin of Charles’s neck. “If they paid you a million pounds,” Erik asks, “would you leave Arsenal?”

“If they paid me ten million, I wouldn’t.” Charles kisses Erik’s ear and then bites down gently on the lobe, enough to make Erik shiver. “I love this place too much.”

“You love _me_ too much,” Erik corrects, raising an eyebrow.

Charles laughs. “Yes, that was implied.” He scoots closer and throws an arm around Erik’s chest, tucking his head against Erik’s shoulder. “No matter how much Mourinho loves me, I love you more.”

Erik sighs and kisses the top of Charles’s head before reaching over to switch off the light. He knows it’s silly to dwell on it; he always knew at the root of it that Charles would never leave. Not when he has everything he needs right here.


	27. charles attempts to seduce erik AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: How about smitten!Charles trying to seduce the hot stranger he always sees on the bus ride to work?

Charles had two pairs of extremely tight jeans and a handful of what Raven called his “sexy shirts,” which he’d used to great effect at various bars and parties over the years. As he’d grown out of his wilder university days, those outfits had been shoved to the back of his closet behind more respectable dress shirts and sweaters, but thankfully, he’d never actually gotten around to throwing them out. On Monday morning, he dug everything out and assessed his options.

The jeans, to his pleasure, still fit snugly. The shirts weren’t too gaudy or out of style either, and when he studied himself in the mirror, he thought he looked rather ravishing. But, after a moment of consideration, he decided that none of it was anywhere near appropriate for a professor of any sort – too tight in the wrong places and too much skin. He’d probably be reported to the dean for a stern talking to about the dress code if he showed up to his classes like this. But he wasn’t sure how else to catch the eye of the handsome stranger who sat in the same seat every morning on the M60 bus headed toward Columbia.

The jeans were all right, he thought, considering his reflection. They weren’t _too_ risqué. 

But Mr. M60 didn’t give him a second look the whole ride that morning. He sat with his nose buried in _The New York Times,_ and no matter how many suggestive looks Charles tried to send him, he didn’t look up once. When his stop came up, Charles had no choice but to pick up his satchel and get out at 116th Street with a sigh.

Tuesday went much the same way. He wore one of his flashier shirts, attempted to draw Mr. M60 into a conversation, and was summarily brushed off. Pride smarting, he got off at his stop and resolved to wear his best suit and tie tomorrow, the one he usually reserved for the high society functions his mother forced him to take part in. Emma had once informed him, rather reluctantly, that in the proper suit, he might pass for James Bond in the right light.  

But James Bond lookalike and all, he might as well have been invisible for all the attention Mr. M60 paid him. A few ladies and more than one man gave Charles appreciative glances on his way to work, but Mr. M60 remained thoroughly engrossed in whatever was on his tablet, not even raising his eyes when Charles had to brush past him to get to the doors.

Well. Charles could take a hint. He even felt a little silly for trying so hard for a man he didn’t even know. He wasn’t _that_ desperate for a date, honestly.

On Thursday, he went back to his trusty cardigan, charcoal trousers, and ragged scarf. Determined to ignore Mr. M60, he brought along a book to read and spent the ride skimming through James Patterson’s latest novel, bookmarking a couple of places to show to Raven later; she was forever unimpressed with his love of thrillers and he liked pointing out especially good passages to try to get her to admit their merits.

He was just finishing up chapter eight when 116th Street came into view. Snapping the book closed, he had to shove his way through the cluster of people near the doors to get out, his satchel snagging a few places here and there before he finally burst out onto the street. The cold winter air stung his face and lungs as he stopped to check his watch. 7:48 – still a few minutes to get to his class.

Just as he was setting off down the street, a hand caught his elbow. Turning, he found, to his shock, Mr. M60 himself standing just behind him, panting a bit as if he’d run.

“Sorry,” he said. “You dropped this.”

In his hand was one black, fingerless glove. It must have fallen out of Charles’ pocket in his struggle to get off the train.

“Oh,” Charles said in surprise, taking the glove from him. “Thanks.”

Mr. M60 nodded. “No problem.”

Behind him, the bus pulled away. Charles glanced after it and said a bit anxiously, “I really hope you aren’t going to be late because you came after me.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Oh. Good.”

They stood in silence on the street corner for a long minute as Charles twisted the strap of his satchel between his hands, trying fruitlessly to come up with something to say. He really didn’t have time for small talk, but he wanted desperately to keep the man around longer. If he let Mr. M60 go now, he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to catch his attention again.

“ _You_ aren’t going to be late anywhere, are you?” Mr. M60 asked eventually.

“I’m…um. Actually, I have to go,” Charles said, apologetic. “My class starts in five minutes.”

Mr. M60’s brow furrowed. “You’re a…student?”

“A professor actually. At Columbia.”

“Oh. You…” Mr. M60’s eyes traced him up and down in a way that made heat shiver down Charles’ spine. “You certainly look the part.”

No way, Charles thought. It couldn’t be the _cardigan_ that had his mysterious, handsome bus fellow finally giving him a second glance.

“Can I walk you to your class?” Mr. M60 asked after a moment, and that was _definitely_ an interested gleam in his eye now.

Charles suppressed a laugh. Raven, who had always made gagging faces at his favored wardrobe, was apparently not as infallible in fashion matters as she liked to think she was. “Of course. If you have time. I’m Charles Xavier.”

Mr. M60 shook his proffered hand firmly, his gloved fingers appealingly warm against Charles’ cold ones. “Erik Lehnsherr.”

“So, Erik,” Charles said as they headed down the street side by side, “what do you do?”

*

Four years, countless coffee dates, and two family reunions later, Charles sat at their dinner table sorting through a stack of invitations as Erik sat opposite of him and picked through the catalog of cake flavors.

“You should invite your work friends,” Charles said, trying not to be distracted by the way Erik’s foot was pressing insistently against his ankle underneath the table. “Look at how many guests you’ve invited compared to how many _I’ve_ invited.”

Erik frowned. “I don’t want to invite my work friends. They’re all assholes. And what the hell is a ginger and wasabi chocolate ganache cake?”

Charles grimaced. “I’m going to say no to that one. And not _all_ your work friends are assholes. What about Darwin? He’s nice.”

Erik thought for a moment before nodding. “You can put Darwin down.”

Charles scribbled his name onto the unofficial list they were keeping. His side was at least twice as long as Erik’s, which was a little concerning because he knew how much Erik wanted a small wedding. Maybe some of his guests could afford to be cut out…

When he looked up from the list, Erik’s gaze was no longer studying the cake descriptions; it was pinned on him, suddenly hot and hungry.

Charles harrumphed, “Oh honestly, Erik, you promised we’d choose a cake flavor before any fooling around today.”

“Sorry. It’s just – you’re wearing that cardigan.”

Charles looked down. “I still can’t believe this ratty old thing turns you on. Not the skinny jeans, not that sublime suit and tie. _This_ thing.”

Erik grins predatorily. “I can’t help what I like.”

Charles threw down his pencil. “Okay, but cake flavor _first_.”

“Vanilla,” Erik said before tackling him out of his seat.

The good thing about this cardigan, Charles thought as Erik kissed him all over, was that ever since he’d met Erik, it never stayed on him for very long.


	28. fae AU part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt (loosely followed): imagine AU where magical creatures/monsters are treated as slaves, and Erik is sold and brought to Prince Charles 8'FFFF

They put the big hound in a cage in the stables and covered it over with a heavy blanket. All during dinner, Charles could hear the animal snarling distantly and howling to be free. He kept glancing at his father but none of the adults seemed concerned. Perhaps the amount of noise it was making was normal. This was the first time the royal hunters had ever brought a fae creature directly to court, rather than shipping it off to the markets. It was the first time Charles had ever seen one with his own eyes, after years of looking at pictures in the old books his father had given him when he was five years old, the books his mother had grumbled would rot his brain and fill him with useless fancy.

He hadn’t seen much when they brought the animal in – just a flash of a muzzle and razor-sharp teeth, and enough of the silhouette to guess at the creature’s general shape – but even that glimpse was more than enough to pique his curiosity. He waited until the feast was at its peak before slipping out of the hall, certain that his parents would be too occupied with the entertainment to pay much attention to him. They never paid him much mind even when there was nothing to distract them.

Two guards stood on duty at the doors of the stables but Charles knew a back way in. There was a tree that wrapped around the back of the stables, high enough for him to reach the little square window that led directly to the hay loft. The gap used to be far too long for him to jump, but he was twelve now, no longer a child. Peeling off his boots, he scaled the tree skillfully, wobbled his way out onto the long branch, and braced himself for a moment before curling his toes around the limb and leaping.

The clatter he made when he hit the window was enough to draw the attention of the guards. All the breath driven out of him by the bottom of the frame, he scrambled to pull himself into the loft and tumbled headfirst into hay bale below, gasping for breath. Ignoring the straw scratching at his skin, he breathed as shallowly and quietly as he could and reached out with his mind, _pushing_ unconcern at the men outside the doors. One of them, who had been reaching for the padlock on the stable door, froze for a moment before turning away again, quieted.

When he had sufficiently recovered his breath, Charles pushed himself up onto his feet and peered over the edge of the loft. The stables were emptied of horses; no doubt the hunters had figured that the presence of the fae creature would spook them and had taken them out as a precaution. The only living thing in here besides Charles was the animal in the covered cage in the stall directly to Charles’ left, panting so heavily Charles could hear its every breath. It sounded monstrous.

Gulping, he mustered up his courage and climbed down the ladder to the floor. Though he tried to keep his footsteps as silent as possible, he knew the moment the creature realized he was approaching: its breathing stopped for a long few seconds and Charles could hear its bulk turning in the cage. He paused mid-step, his heart pounding in his chest. Suppose it broke free? Suppose it cast its magic on him, bewitched him somehow and forced him to kill himself or his friends? The fae could do all sorts of things. The fae were the darkness his father had fought valiantly all his life to eradicate.

No, he told himself. If the animal could have escaped, it would have. He was perfectly safe in here with it, so long as he didn’t allow himself to be intimidated.

He came closer, into the stall itself. He would just flip the cover up, he thought. He would just get a good, close look and then leave.

Holding his breath, he reached out to grasp the cover and forced his hand not to shake. Then, in one quick jerk, he yanked it off.

The creature inside was even larger than he had imagined. It was bigger than any of his father’s hounds, bigger than some of the wolves that lurked around the edges of the forest and sometimes snatched sheep from farms. The sheer size of it made Charles stumble back a step, his eyes wide. As he stared in horrified fascination, the creature’s eyes swung toward him. They were an elusive color, gray and green and blue all at once, and he could see the magic in them. He could see in an instant why his own blue eyes had always frightened anyone he had ever met.

Quick as a snake, the beast lunged at him. Though Charles knew the bars would hold, though he knew he was safe, he still flinched violently back and nearly tripped onto his arse when his heel hit a stray pail sitting by the stall door. The clang the creature’s body made against the cage’s door was deafening, and when Charles’ pulse had calmed slightly, he could hear the animal…snuffling. It was a strange noise. It sounded almost like laughter.

“I am not afraid of you,” he said, more bravely than he felt.

The creature bared its teeth at him. It seemed, bizarrely, like a smile.

“I’m not,” Charles said again, though he remained with his back against the stall wall. He clasped his hands behind his back to keep them from shaking and, after a long minute, dared to reach out with his mind, curious despite himself.

He expected to find only a vague impression of consciousness, as he always did when he tried to read animals. But when he pressed, he found real thoughts and real sentiment, real fears and real angers.

He recoiled in shock. No, that was impossible. These fae creatures were animals, not sentient beings. They did not possess intelligent thought, they were – they were no more than vermin to be hunted, like rats to be flushed out of sewers and cut apart.

But he couldn’t deny that there was something in those gleaming eyes that drew him in. Something keen and sharp and real.

He let out his mind again and this time, he heard a voice. _Little prince,_ said the creature. _The king’s child, a faeling. What rich irony._

Charles’ heart fluttered wildly in his chest. _Who are you?_

A jaw full of white teeth pressed up against the bars, wicked and enticing. _Let me out and I’ll tell you._

Charles stayed where he was. Curious as he was, he wasn’t stupid.   

 _They are going to kill me,_ the creature said, pressing its wet, black nose through the bars.

“They are going to sell you,” Charles corrected. “That’s what they do to you - ” You what? You animals? He wasn’t sure what this fae thing was, except that it wasn’t an animal. It couldn’t be, with a mind like that.

 _What lies you’ve been told_ , the fae creature said, its voice very nearly a purr. Though it was the one in the cage, Charles was the one who felt suddenly trapped. _Don’t you know where your power comes from, princeling?_

“I’m not a – a _faeling_ ,” Charles said, but the words came out unsteady and unsure. When his power had first come upon him when he had been eight years old, his father had told him never to reveal it to anyone. He’d said that they’d kill Charles for it if they knew, that even his royal blood couldn’t protect him from the curse that had been laid on him. Only once had Charles asked if his power might be fae magic and he could still taste the blood in his mouth from when his father had struck him hard across the face and snapped at him never to ask such a foolish question again.

 _Set me free and I’ll tell you everything,_ the creature whispered, its luminous eyes glowing in the darkness. _Everything you ever wanted to know about yourself, everything your father hid from you._

“I’m not that stupid,” Charles said, backing away a step.

 _Oh princeling,_ said the beast, even as Charles retreated, _I think you are._

*

*

*

FIFTEEN YEARS LATER

It was late when Charles finally managed to tear himself away from his papers and turn in for the night. The single lamp in his study had burned itself down to the wick and though he could have lit another, his bad knee ached with the cold and all he wanted to do was climb into bed and sleep until noon tomorrow. Setting aside the papers he had been working on, he stood up, shook some stiffness out of his bad leg, and headed up the cold stone steps to his personal quarters.

Erik was waiting for him, lying curled up on the rug in his massive, wolfish form. When he heard Charles approach, his ears pricked up and he raised his head, firelight shining in his eyes.

“Are you coming to bed or will you lie there all night?” Charles asked, leaning against the top of the stairs to allow his bad knee a minute to recover. This winter was going to be bad, he could tell; already he couldn’t walk without a heavy limp.

Erik’s form shifted seamlessly from beast to man, and when he was on two legs again, he came over and took Charles’ arm. “You know your leg doesn’t like it when you stay up so late.”

“My leg doesn’t like the cold, that’s what it doesn’t like.” He allowed Erik to half-carry him over to the bed and set him down in it. “How did your meeting with Lord Stryker go today?”

Displeasure crossed Erik’s face and mind. “I still cannot tolerate the man. He may play at being polite but I know what he calls our kind behind our backs.”

Charles sighed and pulled off his boots. “I will speak to him tomorrow. Surely he’ll see sense when the king tells him to.”

“Some men would not see sense if a god were to tell them to,” Erik replied, helping Charles with the boot on his bad leg. His hand drifted up to lay itself on Charles’ knee, fingers pressing into the old scar tissue left there. Even through his trousers, Charles shivered.

“You have sacrificed much to bring peace between our peoples,” Erik said, squeezing Charles’ knee meaningfully. “We must not tolerate one man who would seek to undo all the good you’ve done.”  

“One man could never undo all the good we’ve done,” Charles said. He pulled Erik’s hand away and urged him to lie down. “We’ve done far too much and given up far too much.”

Erik gathered him close and turned off the lamp with a wave of his hand. Pressing his nose under Charles’ ear, he murmured, “I hope you don’t regret the day you released me from that cage.”

Charles kissed his cheek, soft and sweet. “Not even a little.”


	29. fae AU part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> small sequel to chapter 28, based on turtletotem's suggestion: What if as part of making peace with the fae they want Charles to take a faerie spouse? And of course he chooses Erik and that's dandy. But the humans won't recognize the marriage and Charles is in a spot every time some duchess sets her cap for him bc not only does he not want her, but the fae would take any human marriage as a breach of the truce.

Erik woke with the dawn, as he always did. The bed beside him was empty, which never used to be cause for concern; Charles, who had difficulty sleeping, had often risen before Erik did, and by the time Erik found him, Charles would have already spoken to all his advisors, read four books, and signed a peace treaty with a neighboring country. He was so very young and so very energetic, and Erik loved him for it. But ever since the battle at the river, he hadn’t been quite so young, nor so energetic. He slept later than Erik more often than not, and when he woke, he was in pain. It had taken Erik a few mornings of waking up alone to realize that Charles was leaving their bed to avoid disturbing Erik when the agony was too much to bear.

He wished fiercely that his talent was healing. All he could do was watch as dozens of doctors examined Charles’ mangled leg and tried again and again to operate on it, to reset it, to crush herbs to it and pray for it to heal. Even now his leg was too weak to walk, so he had to use the rolling chair that Erik had built for him.

But this morning, the chair was where it normally sat on Charles’ side of the bed, and Charles was nowhere to be found.

Wary, Erik got out of bed and slipped on his clothes. Though the palace was secure, someone could have evaded the defenses and taken the king in his sleep. Erik knew faerie who could leap hundreds of miles at will. He knew it wasn’t impossible.

But he didn’t have to go far after all to find Charles – he had hardly set foot outside their private quarters when he heard voices in the sitting room beyond, where they entertained guests informally. He recognized Charles’ voice, low and pleasant. The other was a woman’s, unfamiliar and thick with a northern accent.

“…not quite sure of your purpose here, Lady Kinross,” Charles was saying. “I received no notice that you were coming.”

“It was a last-minute trip,” Lady Kinross replied. “I’m sorry to catch you by surprise, Your Majesty, but I figured that now would be as good a time as any to come to you with my proposal.”

“Your…proposal?”

Erik suppressed a snarl of annoyance. He knew where this was going and he liked it not at all. Pulling the door open without any warning, he strode in down the steps, ignoring the narrow-eyed look the lady on the settee shot him. He had eyes only for Charles, who smiled ruefully when their gazes met and shifted to make room for Erik next to him. His bad leg was propped up on one of the footstools, his silver cane leaning against his thigh. That was heartening, Erik thought when he saw it. It was always a good day when Charles felt strong enough to try the cane.

“Lady Kinross,” Charles said as Erik settled down beside him, “I don’t believe you’ve met my husband, Lord Erik Lehnsherr.”

Erik gave her a lazy scrutiny as she looked back at him. She was slender, elegantly-dressed, and pretty. At first glance, she was no different from any other girl in court, except, perhaps, that she was a little older than the ones that usually tried to catch Charles’ eye. But when Erik met her gaze, she didn’t flinch or blush. She only stared steadily back, bolder than most humans were when they saw Erik’s strange eyes.

“Your husband,” she repeated slowly. “I heard rumors…”

“They’re true,” Erik said, allowing some of his irritation to creep into his tone. “The king is not open to courtships at this time, or at any time.”

 _Gentle, Erik_ , Charles said.

 _If she is so blinded by bigotry that she will not recognize our union_ —

 _I have a feeling that’s not the case, my love._ Aloud, Charles said, “I’m afraid if your proposal involves my hand in marriage, then you will be disappointed.”

Lady Kinross seemed only slightly let down. “I had heard the rumors but I figured I would come see for myself. I told myself it wouldn’t hurt to put my proposal forward and see what you thought.”

“I am flattered, of course. But I am, as you can see, quite taken.”

Lady Kinross smiled. “Quite.” Rising, she offered them both a neat curtsy and gathered up her skirts. “I shall see myself out. Good day, my lords.”

“Good day, milady,” Charles returned.

When she was gone, Erik turned and kissed Charles, long and fierce. When they broke apart after a minute, Charles laughed breathlessly and pinched his arm. “Possessive brute.”

“We’ve been married nearly a year and still the humans come to ask for you,” Erik growled, nipping Charles’ ear. “It is insulting.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Charles said, winding his arms around Erik’s neck, “I quite enjoy your moods afterwards. It makes for very hearty lovemaking.”

Erik huffed a laugh. “You would enjoy that.” He started to slide his arm under Charles’ legs, intent on carrying him off to bed and showing Charles the true definition of a possessive brute, but when Charles hissed out a pained breath, Erik stopped. “How is your knee this morning?”

“No worse than usual,” Charles sighed, rubbing his hand down his thigh. “I felt well enough to try to cane today though, so it’s getting better. Though I suppose the hearty lovemaking is out of the question.”

“What about gentle lovemaking?” Erik asked.

Charles smiled and tilted his head back so that Erik could kiss his throat. “I could be persuaded.”  


	30. fae AU part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> based on this prompt from jeriais: If you are up for it I would like to know the first time they kissed or the moment Erik realized he was in love.
> 
> takes place chronologically between parts 1 and 2.

There wasn’t a moment of clarity or a sudden bolt of understanding. It was a slow realization, carried over the years of their friendship, and when it came time to ask Charles for his hand, Erik felt almost certain Charles would say yes.

“What do you think,” he asked as they sat in the dying firelight of Charles’ tent, “of marrying me?”

Charles startled. “Erik?”

“If you are serious about uniting our people, as I know you are, a political marriage would go a long way toward making that happen. I am not of insignificant status among the faerie, and your rank as king would more than satisfy. It would be prudent.”

Something about what he’d said displeased Charles, though Erik was sure it wasn’t the proposal. Exhaling, Charles said, “Right. Of course. If it’s prudent, then I’m all for it.”

“You’re upset,” Erik observed.

“Of course I’m not.” Charles rolled up the map he’d been studying and pushed away from the table. “I was – surprised, that’s all.” He gave a small laugh that sounded sharper than usual. “Are you sure you want to be married to me? Aren’t I a little young for you?”  

Erik cocked his head. “Is that your way of saying I’m too old for you?”

“No. I am quite – ” Charles shook his head. “ – quite willing. But you and I are friends. I would hate to force you into a marriage of obligation. It may be practical and all that, but if it would make us miserable, I would rather not.”

Erik was surprised. “You think marriage would make us miserable? We get along well. We already spend all hours of day together. Our tempers are suited, and our goals are aligned. I am as willing as you.”

“I can’t argue with you when you put it so logically,” Charles said with a smile, but still he seemed agitated. He put the map away and began to strip off his boots. “I think I’ll turn in for the night. Put out the lamp when you leave.”

Erik stood up. “Tell me why you’re upset with me.”

“I’m not – ”

“I’ve known you for years, Charles. I know when you’re unhappy.”

“Then you should know why I don’t want you to marry me,” Charles snapped suddenly, anger hot in his eyes. Erik frowned as the air rippled with Charles’ emotion; even young as he was, the king rarely lost control over his power. Clearly there was something deeper here that he was overlooking.

“If the idea of having to live in Genosha worries you,” Erik started, “then I assure you, I have no problems remaining here in Westchester with you.” Ever since Charles had broken him from the cage eight years ago, he had only been back to his homeland a handful of times to arrange diplomatic matters. The prospect of living there alone was distasteful. Wherever Charles wanted to stay – and no doubt he would refuse to leave his country and his people – then Erik would stay with him.

But Charles’ anger didn’t abate; in fact, it seemed to intensify, his eyes flashing as he turned away. “Leave, Erik.”

Erik crossed the room to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. Charles tensed under his touch but didn’t break away, though with his face turned away, Erik couldn’t read his expression. Squeezing his shoulder, Erik asked softly, “Why are you angry with me?”

Charles remained silent for a moment before letting out a shuddering breath. Though he had never seemed particularly small to Erik, he looked tiny then, like he was shrinking as the air left him. “I’m in love with you,” he said, with all the decisiveness of a boy who had learned to be king very young. “And I don’t want you to marry me because I don’t think I could bear it.”

Realization began to dawn on Erik. It was amazing, he thought, how he, a creature nearly a century old, could still be surprised by a little thing like this.

“You couldn’t bear having me near,” he said.

“I couldn’t bear having you that near knowing that you weren’t really mine.” Jerkily, Charles shrugged Erik’s hand off his shoulder, moved toward the basin in the corner, and started to wash his face. Charles seldom washed his face before going to bed – he was lazy about it, and had been since he’d been a boy – and Erik could tell he was doing it to have something to occupy his hands. Erik wanted nothing more than to capture those restless fingers and press kisses to them, all over.

“I have always been yours,” Erik said, “since the moment you broke me from that cage.”  

Charles shot him a sharp look. “That’s not what I mean and you know it, Erik. Don’t play games with me about this.”

“I don’t mean you own my fealty,” Erik said, walking to him finally. Charles looked as if he wanted to slip away again, so Erik took his hand to anchor him in place. “I mean you own me. My heart, my soul…” He kissed the back of Charles’ hand. “You own me in every way you could imagine.”

Disbelief washed over him in a wave. “Don’t say that because of what I’ve said. Please don’t say that.”

He tried to draw away, but Erik tightened his grip on his hand. “I mean every word, Charles. I love you.”

“Erik,” Charles said in astonishment.

He offered no resistance when Erik kissed him. In the eight years they had been together, Erik had learned every inch of Charles’ face and thought long and hard about how his lips might taste, how their mouths might fit together. And now, at last, he had concrete answers: Charles tasted of wood smoke and fog and ale, and their mouths fit together as perfectly as Erik had ever imagined.

He was bearing Charles back toward the bed before he was aware of what he was doing, and Charles went eagerly. His fingers tangled in Erik’s hair, pulling them ever closer together. Barely able to draw breath, Erik laid Charles out on the thick fur blankets and kissed his nose, his throat. He wanted to touch Charles everywhere, all at once. He could hardly drink his fill.

“Erik,” Charles said finally, as Erik was pulling at his shirt. “Wait.”

Impatiently, he stilled. “What?”

“Are you sure about this? About me? A marriage would be permanent – ”

Erik kissed him fiercely. “Good.”

Breathless, Charles began to laugh, his delight pouring off of him in great swells. Wrapping his arms around Erik’s neck, he whispered, “Then you must resign yourself to being mine forever, because I will never let you go.”

Erik smiled, joyous and wild. “Perfect.”   


	31. another football AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles makes his comeback after getting sidelined by an injury.

Saturday marks the fourth match in the row that Charles sits it out on the bench, watching the action flow tantalizingly past him, back and forth across the pitch. It’s almost torture to be so close to the game but not being able to influence it at all. When he’s not watching the game, he’s watching Wenger, hoping for a glance, a nod that says, “Get your jacket off, I’m putting you in.” But it doesn’t come.

The match ends with Arsenal drawn level with Everton, with relatively lackluster performances from the both of them. Charles watches as Erik shakes hands with some of the Everton players on the field and wishes fiercely he were among them. God, he hates being benched. It’s very hard not to take out his frustration on Wenger, who’s just doing his best. He has to do what’s best for the team and right now, Charles isn’t an option.

“Hey,” Erik says as he comes over, water bottle in hand. He’s bare-chested, having exchanged shirts with someone else, and any other time Charles would have made a show of appreciating the sight but at the moment, he just feels worn.

“Hey,” he replies, forcing a smile. “I can’t believe you missed that shot.”

Erik harrumphs. “I don’t want to talk about it. Let me shower and we can go get dinner, okay? I’ll skip post-match interviews.”

“Okay.”

Charles hangs around to chat with some of his other teammates and then heads down into the tunnel. There’s no point in showering – his kit is still immaculate, and he doesn’t even have any grass stuck in his boots – so he just changes into his regular clothes and tosses his jersey carelessly into his locker. Podolski passes and says something vague about not letting all this get him down, but Charles doesn’t feel any better to hear it.

Eventually Erik emerges from his shower, his bag slung over his shoulder. “Ready?”

Charles takes his hand. “Let’s go.”

Twenty minutes later they’re sitting across from each other in a cramped Chinese place, Charles moodily sipping on jasmine tea as Erik drinks a Coke.

“You know this isn’t permanent, right?” Erik asks as he toys with a bent corner of the menu. “Just keep working and Wenger will put you back in. You’re just in a little slump.”

“It’s been weeks,” Charles says. “I’ve been at full fitness for weeks but I just…can’t anymore. I don’t know.” Agitated, he scrubs a hand through his hair. “I can’t _feel_ it anymore.” Though his broken ankle had healed in the pre-season and he’d been cleared to play before the Benfica match in the Emirates Cup, he still feels injured. _You’re tentative_ , Wenger had told him one training session. Not the same.

It’s true. He’s afraid of being injured again. He favors his left leg, his weaker ankle. It’s hindering his game and he’s not sure how to fix it.

“You’ll find your stride again,” Erik says confidently. “I know you will.”  

The following Sunday against Leicester City, Charles gets his first playing time in over a month. His heart is pounding in his chest as he strips off his training jacket and warms up by the sidelines as Wenger motions for Wilshere to come off. It seems to take an eternity for Wilshere to jog over and when he finally arrives, he claps his hand to Charles’ shoulder with a “Good luck.” Charles tries to swallow back the sudden lump of nervousness in his throat and runs across the field to take up his position.

He’s never been one of those guys who freeze up in front of a big audience. He thrives off the crowd atmosphere, always has. But there’s something about all the eyes on him today that makes him clumsy. He loses one ball, then another. His passes are misdirected and he can’t seem to connect with anyone. When he looks over at the sidelines, Wenger’s giving him a hand signal to calm down, get himself together. Erik passes by him once when they’re getting settled for a corner kick and whispers, “You can do this, you’re alright.”

The corner kick comes in and curls right in front of Charles who, amazingly enough, is unmarked. He breaks away from the man who’s supposed to be guarding him and catches the ball on the toe of his boot to bring it down. It’s his first good touch all match and the goal is only ten yards away and practically open, with Leicester’s keeper pulled too far up. Heart bursting in his chest, he plants his right foot and swings his left and sends the ball –

Sailing high over the crossbar, straight into the crowd. It’s such a dreadful miss that his stomach plummets in horror even as he stumbles into the side netting. Jesus. Tomorrow’s headlines are already flashing across his eyes: XAVIER MISSES OPEN NET, XAVIER NO LONGER AT HIS PEAK, XAVIER PAST HIS PRIME. He has never felt like crying in despair on the pitch before but he feels like it right then, with his lungs seeming to collapse in on themselves as he replays that ball sailing right over the open net again and again and again.

“Hey, it’s okay, it happens,” Erik’s saying at his side, arm around his shoulders to pull him away. “Come on, let’s keep going.”

His game only gets worse from there. He gives away easy passes, makes awkward runs, and finds himself wildly out of position more often than he’d like. It’s like the team is a well-oiled machine running on a system he’s not familiar with anymore. He feels like a rusty old cog that doesn’t fit quite right, though once he’d melded with the rest of them seamlessly. He _hates_ feeling so out of place on the pitch, where he’s only ever felt at home before.  

Afterwards, he shuts himself up in the bedroom at home and just sits in the corner in the dark, ignoring Erik’s soft attempts to coax him out to dinner. He goes to bed without eating and wakes up at five a.m. to jog to the park by their house. He tosses the football he’d brought with him on the ground and juggles it from foot to foot. Then he takes shots between two trees acting as goalposts and misses again and again, sending the football rocketing off into the fog.

When he gets back home, sweating and frustrated, Erik sits him down at their breakfast table and wordlessly shoves a plateful of eggs at him. Charles eats as Erik hovers over his shoulder and then says, “What happens if I never get my form back?”

“Don’t say that. Of course you’ll get it back.”

“But what if I _don’t?”_ Charles insists. “I guess I could go back to school. Or maybe I could be a postman or something. I’d be good at that. Punctual.”

Erik presses an exasperated kiss on top of his head before going to take the whistling kettle off the stove. “You’re not going to be a postman. You’re going to finish your eggs and then we’re going to the park and we’re going to practice. Then tomorrow you’re going to training and you’re going to prove to Wenger that you deserve a starting spot.”

“But – ”

“But nothing. Shut up and eat your breakfast.”

Hiding his smile behind a huff of annoyance, Charles obeys.

He doesn’t get better, at least not at first. In fact, he might objectively get worse and for a while, there are rumors flying about that Arsenal might dump him in the transfer window because he’s become dead weight on the team. He has never seriously feared for his career before, but for weeks, he’s terrified. He can’t bear to be separated from Arsenal and, by extension, Erik. He loves this club more than nearly anything else in the world.

But then – then – they’re 1-2 down to Sunderland and Charles is brought on as substitute in the 74th minute. He’s barreling down on the left wing, reckless in his desperation to make an impact, and there’s a moment of pure clarity, pure brilliance, as Özil lifts a beautifully hit pass right over the head of the defender behind Charles and the ball lands solidly at his feet. The crowd is roaring but nothing is louder than Charles’ pulse in his ears at that moment as he sprints forward past one defender, then another, and there’s Erik in the box trying to get clear but he’s being pinned in by three men and Charles has no one to block him.

He plants his foot, gauges the goalkeeper’s reaction, and lets the ball fly. There’s a split second of absolute breathlessness before it slots neatly into the upper right hand corner of the net and then his teammates are on him, yelling in delight. He’s dizzy with the disbelief and exhilaration and when he looks for Erik, Erik’s there, right on his shoulder. The expression on his face says it’s taking all his self-control not to pull Charles into a kiss right then and there. Pride gleams in his eyes and Charles begins to laugh, feeling something hard and tight unspool in his chest. It’s been months and months of grueling recovery and discouraging training but suddenly, with one goal, it feels like the worst of the storm has passed.

Later, after he and Erik have thoroughly worn themselves out in bed, Charles lays his head on Erik’s chest so Erik can scratch his long fingers through Charles’ hair and murmurs sleepily, “Thanks for never giving up on me.”

“I could never give up on you,” Erik replies. “Besides, you weren’t ever really that bad. It was a confidence issue. Today’s goal gave you the boost you needed. You’ll do even better tomorrow.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. Now go to sleep.”

Charles presses a kiss to Erik’s collarbone before rolling off his chest and pulling up the covers over them both. “I love you.”

Erik shifts closer and wraps his arms snugly around Charles’ chest. “I love you, too,” he whispers into the crook of Charles’ neck, and despite the shitty last few months he’s had, Charles has never felt better.


	32. random modern AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> based off this prompt from pixolith: Charles is moving out and his douche landlord insists on scheduling a viewing while Charles is still living there. So of course one morning Charles wakes up, mostly naked and hung over, to find is irate landlord coming in with a sharply-dressed, objectionably attractive stranger who doesn't look all that impressed by Charles's scholarly mess.

Erik arrived at the lobby of HF Village bright and early on Monday morning, coffee in one hand and briefcase in the other. Mr. Shaw was late, much to Erik’s annoyance. They had scheduled to meet at seven o’clock and it was nearly seven-twenty when the landlord finally hurried down the stairs, a vaguely apologetic smile on his lips.

“I’m sorry for the delay,” Shaw said, reaching out to shake Erik’s hand before realizing both Erik’s hands were full. Clasping his hands together instead, he added, “Shall we?”

As they went up the stairs, Erik said, “We’ll have to make this quick. I have a meeting at eight-thirty that I can’t miss.”

“Of course, of course. We’ll have you in and out in no time.”

Shaw led him up to the third floor and all the way down the hall to the left. They passed a few people hurrying out for work, and Shaw said, “You won’t have any problems with the neighbors. They’re all well-behaved and if there’s ever trouble, you can come get me directly and I’ll handle it.”

Erik glanced around. The hallway was brightly lit and clear of beer bottles and condoms, which already put this place a step above Erik’s last apartment complex. “I read online that sixty percent of the residents here are mutants.”

“It’s true and the number’s climbing. I’m a mutant myself and I enjoy cultivating, shall we say, a brotherhood amongst our kind.”

Erik approved wholeheartedly but refrained from telling Shaw so. No need to seem too ready to sign the lease; he wanted Shaw to keep working to impress him. 

They stopped at apartment 319 at the end of the hall, where the landlord pulled out a set of keys and jammed a silver one into the lock. “Like I told you yesterday,” Shaw said as he opened the door, “there’s someone still living here but he’ll clear out in two weeks at the latest. Everything should be completely ready for you to take over in October.”

“Mm,” Erik replied, squinting at the darkness. All the blinds in the place seemed to be drawn, which kept the morning’s sunlight from illuminating the apartment. As they stepped in through the hall, Shaw groped for a moment along the side wall and finally found the light switch.

The lights flickered for a moment before coming on, and when they did, both of them stopped at the mouth of the hall, staring. 

“Hmm,” Shaw said, his eyes narrowing. “I promise you, this will all be cleaned up and gone when you’re ready to move in.”

‘This’ was the absolute wreck that was the living room. There didn’t seem to be a single surface that wasn’t covered in books, magazines, papers, unintelligible knickknacks, picture frames, and coffee mugs. The pizza box balanced precariously on top of a music box on the coffee table looked days old. The whole room smelled of takeout food, caffeine, and tea. Erik thought he spotted a small, rodent-like creature dart underneath the sofa crammed up against the TV. 

“I assume the place will be sanitized after this is gone,” Erik said, wrinkling his nose.

“Of course,” Shaw hurried to say. “Everything will be spotless, I promise you. Please keep that in mind. Come on, I’ll show you the kitchen.”

The kitchen was in about the same state as the living room. Dishes were piled high in the sink, a full dozen beer bottles sat collected on the counter, and a plate of cold spaghetti lingered in the open microwave. Whoever lived here was an absolute slob. Erik’s fingers itched to rub everything down with disinfectant and possibly follow that up with a cleansing by fire.

Shaw looked as if he’d bitten into a particularly pungent onion. “Let’s go down the hall, shall we.” He grabbed Erik’s arm and whisked him away like he thought Erik might make a break for the door as soon as he turned his back.

The bathroom was mercifully clean and uncluttered and that was all that could be said for it. The study was a disaster. As Shaw went to open the bedroom door, Erik started to say that he’d seen enough but the words died on his tongue as soon as his eyes landed on what was inside.

There was a man lying face down on top of the covers in the queen-sized bed, absolutely stark naked.

A normal reaction might have been to slam the door shut. Shaw opened it wider and snapped, “Mr. Xavier!”

The man on the bed stirred with a groan. “Wha…” He rubbed his eyes and blinked several times before he seemed to register first that there were people standing in his doorway and second that he didn’t have a single shred of clothing on. “Holy _shit!_ What the _fuck!”_

Erik glanced away as the man shot up off the bed like he’d been poked with a cattle prod. Shaw, for his part, seemed perfectly content to watch, unimpressed, as Xavier raced around snatching up clothes while spitting curses out through his teeth. It was clear after a few moments that the man wasn’t entirely sober.

“I informed you I was holding a viewing today,” Shaw said coldly.

“When?” Xavier demanded. “For God’s sake, _shut the door!”_

Shaw didn’t move. “I sent you an email last night.”

“ _Last night?_ I didn’t touch my computer all night last night! As you can probably tell, I was occupied!”

“I can come back later,” Erik said. He risked glancing over and found Xavier still shirtless but at least sporting sweatpants now. He was…distractingly attractive, even with the dark circles under his eyes and his wild bed-hair.

“If Mr. Xavier had been more diligent about checking his email, this would never have happened,” Shaw said.  

“If you’d bothered to get any confirmation before barging in here, none of this would’ve happened!” Xavier shot back irately. “Get out of my fucking apartment!”

Shaw looked as if he might be working his way up to a tirade but when Erik swiveled around and stalked off down the hall, he followed without another word.

“So sorry,” he said as they took the stairs back down to the lobby. “Would you like to reschedule for some time this week? I’ll find the time to fit you in – ”

“I’ll check my schedule,” Erik interrupted. “Good day, Mr. Shaw.”

He spent the entire day at his office trying to banish the image of Xavier’s naked back and ass from his mind and failed miserably. Tuesday passed in much the same way, and finally, on early Wednesday morning, Erik drove over to HF Village, ran up the stairs to apartment 319, and knocked on the door.

There was a long silence for several minutes before Erik finally felt the distinct imprint of a watch approaching the door, and the deadbolt slid back. The door opened and Xavier’s face appeared, noticeably less haggard than it had been the last time they’d met.

“Um,” he said in surprise, his eyes filling with wary recognition.

“I brought you this,” Erik said gruffly, holding up a gift bag. “As an apology for intruding on Monday.”

“That really wasn’t your fault,” Xavier said. But he took the bag anyway and peeked inside. “This is…”

“Tea. I saw the brand on your kitchen counter. Figured you liked it.”

“It’s my favorite actually. Thanks.” Xavier hesitated a moment and then cracked the door open wider. “If you want to take a look around, I’ve got a few minutes before work. I can give you a comprehensive tour.”

Erik thought for a moment before nodding. He didn’t particularly want to deal with Shaw again if he could help it. “If you wouldn’t mind.” 

“Come in.”

The place was markedly cleaner than it had been on Monday. Xavier noticed him staring and said, “Sorry about the mess last time you were here. I was in the last phase of my thesis and fell behind on…well, pretty much everything else.”

“Your thesis?”

“You can call me Dr. Xavier now,” Xavier said, beaming. “Doctor of biophysics.”

“That’s impressive.”

“Thanks. I didn’t catch your name, by the way.”

“Erik Lehnsherr.”

“Nice to meet you, Erik. Would you like something to drink?”

They ended up seated at Xavier’s – Charles’ – cramped kitchen table with one mug of coffee for each of them. Charles turned out to be remarkably friendly and also remarkably intelligent. He was also, much to Erik’s pleasure, a mutant.

“I’m sorry I was so belligerent on Monday,” he said as he pushed a plate of cookies at Erik. “I was hungover from celebrating my successful thesis defense and alcohol does funny things to my telepathy.”

“Understandable,” Erik replied. He didn’t like cookies very much but he took one anyway and felt a little warm when Charles smiled.

“So the place is actually quite nice,” Charles continued. “I know it doesn’t look it, but it’s spacious and doesn’t have too many problems. The sink in the bathroom leaks from time to time but maintenance is pretty good about getting on that. Oh, and the neighbors to the left are quite loud in bed but if you put on ‘You’ve Got Mail’ and turn the volume up loud, they’ll stop every time.”

Erik raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because Mrs. Trevor loves the movie and she’ll stop so she can listen,” Charles said with a mischievous smile, and Erik was a little surprised to find himself laughing.

Too soon, Charles had to get ready for work and when Erik checked his watch, he figured he should probably get going, too. As they stood up and set their mugs in the sink, Charles said, “If you ever have any questions about the building, you can ask Darwin across the hall. He’s very helpful. If you ever have any questions about this apartment in particular…well, you should probably ask an expert.”

“An expert?” Erik echoed.

Charles plucked a stray receipt off the counter and scribbled something onto the back of it. “Call me if you have any trouble,” he said warmly as he stepped close enough to slip the paper into Erik’s jacket pocket. “I’m only moving to the Upper West Side. We can meet for coffee or something.”

Erik could feel his face heat. “I think I might end up having more trouble than expected,” he murmured a bit faintly.

Charles gave him a wicked smile that almost made his toes curl. “I’m counting on it.”


	33. mr and mrs smith AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles and Erik are rival assassins who happen to be married.

They drove down the highway in stony silence, nursing their wounds separately and trying to look anywhere but at each other. Erik had it easier: he could stare at the road, the steering wheel clenched tightly between his still-bleeding knuckles. But Charles sat in the passenger seat with nothing much to occupy him except for a god-awful headache and the dull, throbbing ache of bruises on his back and legs, and every once in a while, he couldn’t help but sneak a glance over to his husband.

His husband the assassin. His husband the _rival_ assassin, who had tried to kill him less than half an hour ago, whom Charles had been determined to kill himself.

Christ. They were fucked up and Charles had no idea how they were going to fix this, or if it could ever _be_ fixed. ‘It’ being their sham of a marriage, their relationship, their…whatever this had become.

As they flashed past the New Jersey border, Charles said, “I didn’t really go to Columbia.”

Erik’s eyes flicked over to him briefly. “What?”

“Three years at Harvard, three at Oxford. I have a PhD.”

Erik absorbed that in silence, his hands flexing around the wheel in agitation. Then he said, “Why are you telling me this?”

Charles started to shrug but stopped when the motion pulled at a particularly tender bruise on his left side. “We’ve been lying to each other for so long, I thought it might be time to tell a little truth.” _Maybe that way we can save what we had,_ was what he didn’t say. _I still love you_.

Erik said nothing. Mile markers zoomed past. The distant roar of wind coursing over the van’s outside seemed to fill up all the space between them and Charles sat back, trying to hide his disappointment behind blank indifference.

Then Erik said, “I’m Jewish.”

Charles stared at him for a moment. “You don’t eat kosher. We’ve never had kosher food.”

“I’m not a very good Jew,” Erik groused, speeding up to pass a trundling station wagon.

His tone was gruff but it felt like he’d thrown Charles a lifeline. Heartened, Charles admitted, “I’m an orphan. My parents died when I was eleven.”

“What?” Erik shot him an incredulous look. “Your parents were at our wedding. Your mother cried.”

“Paid actors.”

Erik swore. “I told you – I _told_ _you_ I saw your father on Fantasy Island.”

“Yeah, I know. We thought his filmography was limited enough that you’d never watch any of his stuff but obviously not.”

Erik swore again. “Anything else I should know? Is your best friend a paid actor, too?”

“Moira actually works for The Firm with me,” Charles replied, a bit shamefaced. “She vetted you. Obviously not well enough.”

“Was there _anything_ about you that was real?”

Charles honestly couldn’t tell if Erik was angry or fiercely amused now. It was a little funny, if he didn’t think about it too hard, and telling Erik the truth was like unloading weights off his chest. He’d been lying for far too long and it was a relief, really, to finally let the masks fall away. Despite the fact that they had spent the last week trying to kill each other and were now fleeing from the combined forces of their employers, Charles felt lighter and freer than he had in ages.    

“Back there,” Erik said after a long few minutes. “At the house. You had your gun at my head. You could have ended it. Why didn’t you?”

And just like that, Charles’ stomach filled with lead again. He swallowed and looked out the passenger side window, wishing it hadn’t come down to that moment of weakness. Wishing he hadn’t been so obvious when he’d tossed the gun away and said, his pulse roaring in his ears, “I won’t.”

He was saved from answering by a flicker of movement in the side mirror. The sight of the three black sedans gaining on them made him reach automatically for his gun. “We’ve got company.”

Erik glanced in the rearview mirror and jammed his foot down on the gas pedal a little harder. “Just three?”

“Looks like it.” Charles squinted at the license plates. “Two cars from The Firm. I assume the third is yours?”

Erik nodded. “I’m surprised Shaw only sent one.”

“Three cars of men to take care of two rogue assassins,” Charles replied, checking the magazine of his gun. “He must have figured it was enough.”

“Well,” Erik growled, “he chose the wrong husbands to fuck with.”

Charles’ heart squeezed. Erik hadn’t taken off his wedding band, he realized suddenly. It gleamed silver and gorgeous on his left hand.

“I didn’t lie about everything,” Charles said, running his thumb along his own ring. “I do love you. More than anything else in the world.”

Erik didn’t reply for a long moment. Embarrassed, Charles took off his seatbelt and muttered, “I’m going to see if I can take some of them out. Keep the car steady.”

As he made to pass, Erik grabbed his arm at the elbow. “We’re not done with this conversation,” he said lowly, “but I didn’t lie about everything either.”

Charles’ racing pulse had nothing at all to do with the assailants coming up their rear. “Erik…”

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” Erik asked impatiently. He yanked Charles down by his arm and pressed their mouths together, fierce and hot and achingly familiar. The kiss lasted barely two seconds but Charles was breathless when Erik pulled back.

“I love you, too, you idiot,” Erik said, sounding slightly out of breath himself. “Now maybe you should drive so I can shoot. I’ve never been beaten at marksmanship.”

Charles began to laugh, so full of relief and joy that he wouldn’t have cared if they plummeted off a cliff in that moment, so long as they were together. “Oh, darling,” he said fondly, gun in hand as he climbed into the back of the van, “that’s because you never went up against me.”  


	34. prom AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik asks someone else to prom, and Charles is miserable about it.

Charles spent the first two hours of prom lurking miserably in a corner, watching the strobe lights flash dizzyingly across the wild crowd in the dark gym and wishing he’d never set foot outside his house tonight. Moira had tried multiple times to drag him onto the dance floor but he’d refrained, citing a stomachache from dinner. He felt a little bad about depriving her of a dance partner for the slower songs, but soon enough, she’d wandered off with her other friends and didn’t seem to be missing him very much at all.

There was someone else who seemed to be doing perfectly alright in Charles’ absence and that someone was currently hanging out by the refreshment table, two red solo cups in his hand as he chatted with a nearby friend. As Charles watched, Erik excused himself and carried the cups over to a table where Emma Frost sat waiting. She was dazzling in her pure white gown, sparkling like a swan rising from water. Erik’s rented black tuxedo looked positively shabby next to her glorious dress, but his good looks and bearing more than made up for it. He could have been wearing nothing but swim trunks and he would still look as if he belonged by Emma’s side.

Suppressing a sigh, Charles sipped the grape juice from his own solo cup and wished it was alcohol. He’d heard one of the Summers boys was planning on smuggling in some beer. Maybe he should go find them. It would beat sulking in the corner like a bad cliché.   

Before he could make a decision, Moira came back, sweating and breathless. “Still not interested in dancing?” she asked as she stole his grape juice.

“My head hurts,” he told her honestly.

She raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him. “Why did you bother coming if you were just going to mope the whole time?”

“I’m not moping.”

“Oh please, Charles. You’ve been staring at Erik all night long.”

He averted his eyes, glad the gym was too dark for her to see his flush. “No, I haven’t.” At her skeptical stare, he sighed and admitted, “Alright, maybe I have. Just a little.”

“Why don’t you just go talk to him?” Moira asked. “It’s not like you’re strangers.”

“We’re not exactly friends either,” Charles pointed out.

“No, you just do all your class projects together and refuse to let anyone else join your group.”

“No one else wants to work with Erik,” Charles said defensively. “They think he’s scary.”

“That’s because he _is_ scary. But the heart wants what it wants, I guess. You have weird taste.”

Charles watched as Erik laughed at something Emma whispered in his ear and muttered, “I don’t like him, really.”

“Of course you don’t. You just asked your best friend out to prom and then spent half of it brooding in the corner and staring creepily at your crush because you don’t like him, really.”

Charles heaved a sigh. “Well, what can I do? He asked _Emma_ to prom.” Emma Frost, who was head and shoulders above Charles. She was gorgeous and talented and aloof in that way that made boys flock to her, grasping for just a word, a look. Charles, with his general invisibility in the school’s social hierarchy, stood little chance against her.

Moira scoffed and said, “He doesn’t give a shit about Emma. I mean, they’re friends or whatever and he likes her but he doesn’t care about her like that.”

Across the room, Erik had pulled his chair up close to Emma’s, close enough that their knees touched. “I find that hard to believe,” Charles replied, snatching his cup back from Moira’s hand. “You go dance. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, you’re done moping and being dramatic,” Moira declared, seizing his arm. “Come on.”

“Moira, what – ”

It was evident after a few seconds that she was dragging him past the dance floor to the other side of the gym, straight for Erik’s table. Immediately Charles dug his heels in in panic but Moira was on a rowing team and had the muscles to show for it; she hauled him along even as he tried to protest and didn’t stop until they were directly in front of Erik.

“Be natural,” she hissed before shoving Charles in front of her.

Natural. Right. When Erik quirked a questioning eyebrow at him, Charles said weakly, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Erik replied. His eyes flicked over Charles’ shoulder. “Hey, Moira.”

“Hey,” she said. “You mind if I steal your date for a second? I have something to ask her.”

Emma and Moira didn’t know each other, and as far as Charles knew, they’d never even spoken. It was such an obvious ploy to get Erik alone and Erik probably saw right through it, probably knew exactly what was happening. Charles wished he could melt into a puddle through the floor.

He expected Emma to refuse, but she rose gracefully without protest and linked her arm through Moira’s. “About time,” she said. Charles couldn’t tell if she was addressing him or Erik or even Moira, but she was gone before he could figure it out, which left only him and Erik at the table, staring at each other.

After a moment, Erik pushed Emma’s vacated chair toward him. “I didn’t know if you were coming or not.”

Charles sat down. “I didn’t really decide until a couple of days ago. I didn’t know if _you_ were coming. You always said prom was stupid.”

“It _is_ stupid. It’s a bunch of awkward dancing and boys in their dads’ suits and unbelievably expensive food.”

“Then why the change of heart? All last week, all you could talk about was prom this, prom that. And then you…” Charles hesitated. “And then you asked Emma…”

Truth be told, with all the sudden prom talk, he had hoped Erik had been feeling him out, seeing if he’d say yes if Erik asked him to be his date. But the whole week had passed and Charles, still dateless the night before prom, had been forced to ask Moira, who’d promised to go with him if he didn’t end up finding anyone after all.

“Well I was thinking…” Erik twisted his boutonniere between his fingers. After a moment, he seemed to gather up his courage and said in a barely-controlled rush, “I thought if I showed interest in going, you’d ask me to go with you. You know, as your date.”

For a second, Charles was sure he heard Erik wrong. With the music pounding on deafeningly behind them, it would be easy to mishear his words, easy to misinterpret his meaning. But Erik’s eyes were bold and undeniably warm as they locked on Charles’, and the way he slowly held out the boutonniere couldn’t mean anything else.

Steadying his hand, Charles reached out and took the flower, trying not to betray the fact that his pulse was beating out through his throat. “You wanted me to ask you?”

“Yeah. But you didn’t and I’d already rented the tuxedo and the car, so I had to ask someone. I was lucky Emma was free.”

“Erik.” Charles laughed breathlessly. “I was waiting for _you_ to ask _me_.”

Erik’s eyes widened. Then he stood up, took the flower back from Charles’ hand, and slid it gently into the lapel of Charles’ jacket, right beside Charles’ own.

“Want to dance?” he asked with a hesitant smile, holding out his hand.

Smiling back, Charles took it and pulled him toward the music. “I’ve never wanted to more.”


	35. bachelor party AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles has a little too much fun at his bachelor party. Thankfully his fiance is there to pick him up.

Charles sat shivering on the curb, arms crossed over his chest and knees pulled up close to his body to conserve warmth. He was hungry, barefoot, and more than a little cold. He wasn’t quite sure what had happened to his shoes and socks, but he was quite sure that he didn’t like resting his bare feet on the wet pavement of the road. He tried sitting with them lifted a few inches off the ground, but it was a difficult position to hold and he was too tired to try it more than once. Everything in his head felt fuzzy and indistinct. He started to check his watch before remembering it was gone, too. It had to have been a couple of hours at least. Maybe four or five. Or maybe just one – time was bending oddly, passing in indefinite flashes.

He kept waiting.

After a while, a pair of blinding headlights swept over him, making him squint as they drew closer. He felt like he should get up and probably reassure the driver that he wasn’t loitering and that he wasn’t looking for any trouble, but it took effort just to lift his head and his muscles were cramped stiff with the cold. So he just watched as the car slowed to a stop directly in front of him.

No one got out but the passenger window rolled down. “Hey,” said the man inside. He looked around forty, forty-five, and he had a distinctly predatory look on his face. “You out here alone?”

“Hello,” Charles called back. “No, I’m…waiting.”

“What for?”

Charles frowned. Now that he thought about it, he wasn’t entirely sure. But he knew he had been told to wait, so here he sat on the curb of a street he didn’t recognize, waiting. “I don’t know,” he said truthfully, “but I have to.”

“Well, it’s cold out. You want me to take you someplace warm?”

Something about the man’s mind said _wrong_. “No, thank you,” Charles said politely. “I’m waiting.”

The man chuckled. “Kid, whoever you’re waiting for is long gone. Come on, I can get you something to eat. Someplace to sleep, too. You look tired.”

“And you look very shady,” Charles replied. “Ve-ee-ry shady.”

There was a slight pause before the man said slowly, “You’re drunk.”

“Very pleasantly so.” He couldn’t remember much of how he’d gotten here, but he remembered it had been fun. Perhaps the most fun he’d had in his entire life. Evidently too much fun. “Please go away.”

“And leave you on the curb for anyone to take advantage of? I don’t think so.”

The man shut the engine off and unbuckled his seatbelt. The resulting silence made Charles distinctly uncomfortable, so he tried valiantly to get to his feet as the man opened his car door. “No,” he said when the stranger walked around the front of the car toward him. “Go away.”

“Come on, kid,” the man soothed, reaching down to take his arm. “It’ll be ok, I’ll take you somewhere safe.”

The physical contact made it easier for Charles’ telepathy to find purchase, and it skittered up around the man’s mind, only to recoil at the raw lust and eagerness that swarmed out toward him like a poisonous fog. “Your head is slimy,” Charles said in disgust, trying to wrench his arm away. “Go away.”

Impatience flickered between them. “Come on, kid, get in the car.”

Charles caught his thoughts in snatches, like listening to garbled words on a bad radio – _off the street before someone – violate fucking parole – got all night long –_

“Get _off_ ,” Charles barked, shoving the order vaguely in the man’s direction. With all the alcohol in his system, his finesse was shot and the command mostly missed its mark. The man staggered away with a hoarse cry, clutching his head in confused agony.

Suddenly there was a new, very familiar mind at Charles’ side and it was snapping in anger. “Get the fuck out of here,” the newcomer snarled, his hand settling warmly at the small of Charles’ back. “ _Now_.”

“He’s a mutant!” the man spat, his eyes wild. “A freak!”

Behind him, his car crumpled abruptly in a screech of metal like an oversized soda can. He took one look at it and then tore off down the street, panic streaming from his mind like a comet trail.

“Metallokinetic?” Charles guessed, delighted. “That’s very groovy.”

“I told you to wait in the car,” the other man groused. He was very handsome. Unbearably so, in fact. His tuxedo was decidedly more rumpled than Charles’ but at least he was still in possession of his shoes. Charles, who was standing in a puddle on the curbside, envied him very much.

“The car was hot. I wanted air.” Charles petted a hand down the man’s chest. “You seem very familiar.”

“Oh my god,” the man said. “How many drinks did you have?”

“Forty-two,” Charles said sagely. Then he admitted, “I actually don’t know, I just like that number.”

“I know.” Exasperated fondness curled like rising fog from the man’s mind. “You watch _Hitchhiker’s_ every Christmas.”

Charles squinted at him. “You look _ve-ry_ familiar.”

“Of course I do,” the other man harrumphed, “I’m Erik, your fiancé. Your bachelor party got out of hand. I came to pick you up and we got a flat tire. I went to get help and you went and apparently lost your shoes.” Erik huffed. “Why did you insist on having separate bachelor parties when you knew you were just going to get shit-faced and call me to come get you?”

“I called you?” Charles wasn’t even sure he had his phone on him. It had gone somewhere, along with his watch.

“Moira did. Come on, let’s get you home, you idiot.”

“That’s not very nice,” Charles scolded as Erik towed him toward what appeared to be a cab idling on the other side of the street.  

“It wasn’t very nice to interrupt _my_ party,” Erik grumbled. “I was actually having a great time. Emma brought a stripper.”

“A stripper!” Charles exclaimed, immediately jealous. He couldn’t help but follow that up with: “Was he hot?”

“Extremely. He wore one of those flimsy cop uniforms and gave me a lap dance.”

“Did he…did you…” Charles frowned, unsettled. He didn’t like the idea of anyone else giving Erik lap dances. He didn’t like the idea of anyone else getting within a ten-foot radius of Erik.

Erik smiled as he popped open the back door of the cab and pushed Charles in. “I’m teasing. Emma kept the stripper all for herself. I’m actually glad Moira called; I was getting bored anyway.”

Charles leaned his head against the window and tried not to vomit as the cab lurched into motion. After a minute, Erik reached out and pulled him over so that his head rested on Erik’s shoulder instead, which was warm and smelled faintly of alcohol and cigarette smoke.

“I’m going to throw up in your lap,” Charles said, swaying.  

“You’re very lucky you’re pretty,” Erik replied, “because forgetting who your fiancé is the week of the wedding is a pretty big sticking point.”

“I’m very drunk,” Charles pointed out.

“So I noticed.”

“I still…I still love you very much.” He tried to kiss Erik’s cheek and missed, toppling over against Erik’s chest as the cab took a wide right turn. Erik’s arm settled securely around his shoulders, keeping him from tipping off the seat.

“You probably can’t even remember my last name right now,” Erik scoffed, but at least he sounded amused.

“I love you very much,” Charles said again into Erik’s knee. “I know I do; I have great taste in men.” After a moment, he added, “Also you have a stunning arse.”

Erik started to laugh, and everything in that moment was so very pleasant and tingly and warm that Charles decided to go ahead and pass out.  

*

They got married the next morning in some god-awful sunshine with a terribly inconsiderate crowd that wouldn’t stop clapping thunderously no matter how much Charles winced. He’d been nursing an outrageous hangover ever since he woke up, and his mouth tasted like sandpaper no matter how much water he’d guzzled down. Erik, bless him, had allowed him to wear sunglasses right up until they exchanged vows, which Charles did squinting and in pain. They kissed to the raucous cheers of the audience and Charles almost cried because his head hurt so much, which made Raven cry because she thought he was crying out of joy.

“Please,” he said as Erik loaded him into the back of their wedding limo, “don’t ever, ever let me drink like that again.”

“But you’re the most adorable drunk,” Erik teased, shutting the door. As they started off down the road, he kissed Charles dizzyingly and left him reeling breathlessly against the window. “Besides, that _is_ the only bachelor party you’ll ever have,” he reasoned. “At least you went out with a bang.”

Ignoring his seatbelt, Charles lay down and put his head in Erik’s lap. “Will you divorce me if I throw up on your shoes?”

Erik’s amusement radiated off of him in waves as he carded his fingers through Charles’ hair. “No. You’re lucky I love you.”

“Mm.” Charles couldn’t find it in himself to disagree with that. Cracking one eye open, he managed to find Erik’s free hand and lace their fingers together. Giving his hand a squeeze, he sighed and pressed his face into Erik’s thigh. “Very lucky indeed.”  


	36. fire alarm AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt “3am and the fire alarm in our apartment complex just went off let me lend you my jacket while we wait on the sidewalk”

Erik nearly hurled the nightstand at the door when the alarm went off. Disoriented as he was, he spent a full half minute convinced he was being attacked. Someone had broken into his apartment, set off the alarm system, and was probably headed in Erik’s direction right now with a gun or a baseball bat or a weapon of some sort, intent on robbing Erik blind. Well, Erik thought crankily as he rolled off the cot and jammed his feet into his slippers, the asshole had chosen the absolute wrong apartment to burglarize. Erik was going to fucking toss him out a window.

A minute later, he realized that the alarm going off wasn’t his security system at all – it was the fire alarm and he was wandering around his empty apartment looking for burglars to terrorize while the building was evidently on fire.

Christ, he thought to himself. Jetlag was definitely hitting him hard.

As the alarm continued to ring deafeningly, he grabbed his keys from the hallway table and bounded out the door. Other residents were crowding up the corridor outside as they headed down the stairs to the exit. He figured the fire couldn’t be that bad if the old ladies in front of him were chatting about their knitting as they went laboriously down, step by step. With a brush of his power, Erik read the hands on the watch of the man behind him – 3 a.m. God. He was going to be irritable as hell in the morning and Emma would call him pissy and he’d have to spend the entire workday listening to her tease him about the bags under his eyes.

He should never have moved to New York, he thought grouchily as he took the stairs two at a time. He hated moving.

Stepping outside solidified that thought in an instant: it was chilly beyond comfort and in his haste to leave his apartment, he’d neglected to bring a jacket. He hated being cold almost as much as he hated being woken up in the middle of the night. The two of them combined plummeted his mood from jetlagged and drowsy to murderously exhausted.

“Hello,” said a voice to his right. “Here.”

Turning, Erik found a disarmingly attractive young man standing beside him, holding out what appeared to be a shawl. A very ugly shawl, at that.

“Thank you for that,” the stranger said with a laugh. “It’s a throw blanket.” He draped one end over his shoulders and held the other out invitingly. “Come on, we’ll share.”

Normally Erik wanted very little to do with his own friends, let alone strangers. But he was cold and tired and the throw blanket, hideous as it was, did look fairly comfortable. So he found himself sliding in beside the man and tugging the other corner of the blanket over his shoulders.

It was pleasantly warm. Erik pretended he wasn’t snuggling into the other man’s side.

“I’m Charles,” said the stranger after a moment.

“Erik.”

“You’re new here, aren’t you?”

It wasn’t quite a question. Erik gave him a quizzical glance. “How did you know?”

Charles shot a grin at Erik’s boxers and thin t-shirt. “The fire alarms on the building are notoriously faulty. We get false alarms nearly every month. You live here long enough and you’ll have a jacket in hand for the next time.”

“I hate this fucking place,” Erik muttered, staring up at the dark building. Even its façade seemed to mock him.

“It’s not all bad,” Charles said. “There’s complimentary coffee and live jazz every Tuesday. And when the fire alarms go off, you always get the chance to meet handsome strangers on the street.”

The smile Charles gave him was more than a little flirtatious. Erik startled. Standing on the sidewalk outside in the freezing cold at 3 a.m. was not his ideal locale for chatting up strangers.  

Charles grinned cheekily. “But you must admit, you give me points for trying.”  

“What?”

“Not an ideal locale,” Charles said, “but you can’t blame me for trying. You _are_ stunningly handsome, after all.”

It took Erik’s sleep-addled brain a minute to fumblingly put the pieces together, and when he did, he blinked at Charles in surprise. “You’re a telepath.”

Charles’ smile wavered a bit. “Right in one.” He lifted the edge of the blanket Erik was under and added, “You’re free to go if you want.”

Erik huffed at him and tugged the blanket back down. “Why would I want? It’s fucking cold.”

“If my telepathy bothers you…”

“If you were really reading my mind, you’d know I don’t have any problem with telepaths.”

“Really?”

“It would be impossible to do my job if I did. My partner’s telepathic.”

Charles’ smile returned full-force. “What do you do?”

“I’m a police detective.”

“Well, Detective…”

“Lehnsherr.”

“Detective Lehnsherr.” Charles leaned into Erik’s side, warm and nearly irresistible. “What do you say we go back upstairs when this alarm’s over and have a cup of tea together? I can never sleep again after I’ve been woken up.”

“Same,” Erik said. He thought it over for a moment, thought of the unpacking he still had to do and of the fact that he’d likely be homicidally grouchy in the morning. Then he shrugged and said, “Alright. My place or yours?”

“I have a tea kettle and eleven different kinds of tea.”

“Very tempting.”

Charles smirked. “And a bed.”

“Sold,” Erik declared. He was already awake; nothing to do but make the best of it. “I’m hoping this bed is comfortable and can fit two.”

“And it’s tempurpedic.”  

Erik thought of the hard cot he’d been sleeping on for the last two nights and almost groaned at the thought of a real mattress. “That sounds incredible. I could kiss you.”

Charles’ answering smile was dazzling. “I rather hope you will.”


	37. yet another football AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: What about a new football!AU in which Charles is arsenal's captain, wise and happy to help, and Erik is the newbie who has had a crush on him for years? Sorry, "Erik is Crushing Harder Than a 12 Year Old Girl" is my favorite tag.

Tuesday is Erik’s first day. He arrived in London on Friday, got settled in at his new flat over the weekend, attended a press conference unveiling his jersey number yesterday, and finally, today, he’s going to meet his new teammates.

More importantly, he’s going to meet Charles Xavier. Excitement and nervousness worms through his stomach at the thought. He feels like he’s eleven years old again and back in his Munich youth training camp, anxiously awaiting the arrival of Franz Beckenbauer, who’d been kind enough to drop by and give a bunch of lanky German boys a pep talk and some advice. Erik had been so apprehensive he’d nearly been sick with it as he’d clutched his mother’s camera tightly in his hands, hoping the German legend would be gracious enough to take a photo with him.

He’s a full decade older now but he still feels awkward and ill-fitting sometimes, as if he’s still just an awed fan masquerading as a footballer and all the men around him are the real professionals. Friendly as his teammates at Augsburg had been, he’d never really seemed to click with the squad. Part of it might have been because of his natural reticence, which had kept him from making easy friends. The media had called him aloof and cold, had painted him as a lone wolf with trouble meshing well with others. And Erik supposes some of that _was_ true, but a larger part of his problem had been that he just hadn’t felt like he _belonged_.

“Time for a transfer,” his agent Emma had concluded when he’d told her. “You’re stagnating here and someone of your talent can’t afford that. I’ll put out feelers.”

Three months and £4 million later, he’d been on a plane out of Germany with Arsene Wenger waiting for him when he touched down in London. And now here he is, stepping onto the turf with some legends he’s only ever dreamed of meeting.

Since he arrives early, he loiters on the sidelines by himself for a while, watching some staff set out equipment on the sun-warmed training pitch. With the hot sun beating down, Erik strips out of his jacket and sweatpants and checks his phone for the third time to make sure he’s got the training schedule correct. He’s just leaning down to slip his phone back into his bag when a cheery voice says behind him, “You must be our new guy.”

He knows that voice from years of hearing it on TV and on YouTube. Erik straightens so quickly his vision spins for a half-second, and when his eyes focus, he finds Arsenal’s captain looking up at him, smiling sunnily.

“Charles Xavier,” the skipper says, extending his hand. “You’re half an hour early.”

Erik half-shrugs as he takes Charles’ hand. “Erik. I didn’t know what traffic would be like. I didn’t want to be late.” Cocking his head, he adds, “You’re early, too.”

Charles grins. “I like to come out before everyone else on days transfers come in so I can tell the lads if we’re in for a treat.”

Erik huffs. “So no pressure.”

Charles laughs and claps him on the shoulder. “None at all. Come stretch with me.”

They sit on the sidelines together and start with some static stretching. There’s no chance for an awkward silence to set in because Charles chatters the entire time, talking about what nice weather they’ve been having, about how London can get kind of confusing to a newcomer, about how the other boys are dying to meet Erik and see what he’s made of. Charles is charming in interviews, but in person, he’s devastatingly charismatic. Erik gets lost in his voice and the way he talks with his hands, waving them back and forth as he narrates one story after another. And his laugh—God, his laugh is infectious, pulling more smiles from Erik in that half hour than he’s accustomed to giving in a month.

By the time the others start to arrive, Charles and Erik have started to take some shots on each other in goal. Charles has a rocket of a shot, beautifully precise and hellishly fast. Watching his goals on television is one thing; facing them down and trying to stop them is quite another. Erik comes away with a new appreciation for keepers and spends a few minutes firing shots at Charles, who turns out to be a shit goaltender because he’s so short.

“Come on,” Charles says after a while, booting the ball back over to the sidelines and slapping Erik on the back. “Let’s go meet the others.”

Everyone is relatively friendly and welcoming. Erik naturally falls in with the Germans on the team, and he follows them on most of the exercises they run through that morning. They do some dynamic stretching, go through a slew of ball exercises, and then split up into groups to play keep-away. When Charles joins them on the last drill, Erik suddenly develops two left feet and can’t manage to get his passes off correctly. He can feel himself flushing every time he loses the ball and when one of the trainers comes over to adjust his stance, he wishes the ground would just open up and swallow him whole.

But Charles never gives him so much as a derisive look; he must notice Erik’s embarrassment because he just jokes with Özil in horrific German and casually overlooks any slip-up Erik makes. Toward the end of the exercise, he stops suddenly and hops out of the circle with a grimace.

“You okay?” Podolski asks, juggling the ball on the top of his boot.

“Cramp,” Charles replies. “Erik, give me a hand?”

Erik has to fight the urge to glance around for another Erik. “Me?” he asks doubtfully, because he’s on the other side of the circle, the furthest away from Charles.

“Yes, you,” Charles says, lying down in the grass. “Come over here and stretch me.”

Swallowing, Erik rounds over to him and takes Charles’ ankle when Charles raises it toward him. Thus follows a few of the most surreal moments of Erik’s life, in which he gets his hands all over the man he’s had a massive crush on for close to six years. After a minute or two of stretching, Charles asks Erik to massage his calf muscles to try to alleviate the pain, and Erik fumbles through it, trying desperately to ignore how hot his face is and how warm Charles’ skin feels against his hand.

“Everything okay here?” one of the physios asks as he wanders over.

“Perfectly fine,” Charles replies, flashing the man a smile. “Just a little cramp. I’ll be good in a second.”

Mercifully, Charles recovers within the next minute and Erik can resume his place on the other side of the circle. They finish the drill and then Wenger sends them off to the showers, training session concluded.

“Not bad for your first day,” Charles says, catching Erik as they troop down the stairs. “Are you doing anything after this?”

“No, I don’t think so. Why?”

“I thought I could take you on a tour of the city. Just around the area. There’s a very nice café near the stadium that serves the most excellent tea.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Erik says, trying to ignore the way his heart is attempting to escape his chest. Charles Xavier is asking him to a café. Charles Xavier is offering to take him around. Erik feels a little faint.

Charles smiles. “Good. Let’s hit the showers and get going, all right? I can give you a ride around, and we can get lunch later, too.”

With that, he flounces on ahead to catch up to Giroud, who tosses an affectionate arm around Charles’ shoulders.

Yes, Erik thinks, a little dazed, he thinks he’s going to like London very much.   


	38. football dad AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for this prompt: FootballAU!Erik kicking the ball on goal, but not too hard so six-year-old Lorna can stop it.

After they’ve shaken hands with the FIFA president and received their medals, Erik barely sticks around for celebratory team pictures at the half line, impatient to get away. As much as he loves his teammates, as much as he wants to touch the gleaming, golden World Cup trophy for possibly the rest of his life, they’re not what seizes his attention at the moment. It’s incredible really: when he was seven years old daydreaming about winning the World Cup, he’d imagined cradling it to his chest, refusing to take his eye off it, refusing to let it go. But now, seventeen years later, he’s content to let Podolski parade it around the pitch as Ozil and Muller follow on his heels, pestering him for a turn. He jogs over to the sideline instead, where Charles sits in his chair waiting.

Lorna squirms on Charles’ lap and leaps off as Erik nears. “Can I hold the trophy, Daddy?” she asks, bouncing around him excitedly. “Can I touch it?”

“I’ll be sure you get a turn,” he tells her, sweeping her up into his arms. Some of her face paint is running and her ponytail is loose and messy, probably from jumping in the stands, but her eyes are luminous and elated. He hasn’t seen her so excited in a long time, probably since Charles first told her he’d taken the entire month off work so they could travel with the German National Team, so Lorna would be able to follow her father every step of the way to the final.

She clambers up to sit on his shoulders and says, “I want to talk to Ozil, too. He said I could have one of his boots after the game. He said he would even autograph it if I brought a Sharpie.”

“Did you bring one?" 

"Got that covered,” Charles says with a smile, pulling one out of his pocket and handing it up. His face paint is running, too, and his face is flushed and bright. He’s looking at Erik like he simultaneously wants to hug him and rip his clothes right off. Erik shares the sentiment one hundred percent, but with the eyes of the world on them, he settles for giving Charles a meaningful grin.

“How would you like to play on an official World Cup pitch?” Erik asks, swinging Lorna off his shoulders. “Come on, we can take some shots on goal.”

Lorna stares at him, eyes wide. “Can we do that?”

“I’m a world champion,” Erik replies cheekily. “We can do whatever we want.”

She takes off immediately in pursuit of one of the stray balls lying around, and Erik takes a moment to step over to Charles and bend over to press their mouths together. Charles keeps it mostly chaste but slips Erik some tongue, which will probably scandalize some tabloid tomorrow but Erik really can’t find it in himself to give a fuck. They’ve just won the World Cup. He’s too exhilarated to care about _anything_.

Pulling the medal off his neck, he slips it around Charles’ instead and says, “You won this just as much as I did.”

Charles touches it, awed. “Never thought I’d be wearing one of these.”

“You deserve it. You made me the player I am today.”

“Oh, hush. You had all the talent. All you needed to do was learn how to really use it.” But Charles’ eyes are wet and he doesn’t protest when Erik kisses him again, until Lorna yells, “Can we play or are you gonna keep being gross with Charles all day?”

“She’s developing _attitude_ ,” Erik mutters, his hands braced on the arms of Charles’ chair.

"She’s your daughter,” Charles replies with a smile, touching Erik’s jaw. “Go play with her before she steals the trophy or something.”

“I wouldn’t put it past her.” He squeezes Charles’ hand before tearing himself away to chase after his daughter, who’s dribbling toward the far goal. She’s got good ball control for a six-year-old. He’s unbearably proud of her.

“I bet you can’t score on me,” he tells her as he jogs past.

“I bet I _can_ ,” she shouts back, running flat out for the net.

He stops on the goal line and turns, crouching low as she approaches. As she shoots right, he dives left and hears the ball swish in the back of the net, followed by Lorna’s loud cheer.

He runs out and swoops her off her feet, laughing when she shrieks. “Scored your first World Cup goal at six years old,” he exclaims, swinging her around. “I predict a Golden Boot in your future.”

Her delighted laughter makes his heart swell immeasurably. He thinks, _This might be the happiest moment of my life._ And when he looks over to find that Charles has somehow finagled the trophy from his teammates and is locking eyes with Erik as he kisses it, his broad smile bright enough to light up the entire stadium, Erik corrects himself. _It **definitely** is_.


	39. football AU 27384

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "imagine: during the wc final, someone says something unflattering about charles to erik. erik flips his shit and scores two goals."

All the reporters ask Erik for days on end after Germany lifts the World Cup trophy is, “What did he say to you?” Erik continually brushes them off with noncommittal answers and redirects the conversation, which, of course, only piques Charles’ interest. But Erik seems as reticent to talk about it with him as he is with everyone else, blatantly changing the subject every time Charles asks.

He waits until they’re ensconced in bed after a couple of blissful, celebratory orgasms, waits until that sleepy moment just before Erik falls asleep when he lets his guard down. Then, carding his fingers through Erik’s hair in the way that always makes Erik drowsy, he asks casually, “So what _did_ Quested say to you?”

There’s a slight pause. Then Erik replies, “I already told you, he didn’t say anything important. Just the regular taunting you’ve probably heard a hundred times.”

Though Erik makes an obvious effort to seem nonchalant, the way he stiffens under Charles’ hand gives him away. “You don’t get worked up over a little taunting,” Charles says skeptically. He can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen Erik lose his temper on the pitch. “You nearly punched him. If Muller hadn’t held you back, you probably would’ve been sent off. _And_ you knocked in two goals barely ten minutes after that. I’ve never seen you play like that.”

Erik sits up. “Can we not talk about this?”

Frowning, Charles rises, too. “That bad?”

“No, it wasn’t…” Erik’s mouth pinches.

Even curious as he is, Charles knows when to back off before Erik shuts up completely. “Alright. If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine.” He kisses Erik’s shoulder and lies back down, tugging the covers up to his chest. A moment later, Erik follows suit, turning onto his side so Charles can snuggle up behind him, nose buried in the nape of Erik’s hair and arm sliding across Erik’s ridiculously narrow waist.

They lie in silence for a couple of minutes before Erik says quietly, “He insulted you.”

Charles blinks awake. “Quested?”

“Yeah. I don’t think he knew I understood Spanish.” Erik hesitates, then grinds out, “He said after Argentina sent us home, I’d have to get my little English bitch to lick my wounds.”

“Oh.” Charles smiles against Erik’s skin. “That’s hardly the worst thing someone’s called me in the heat of a match, darling.”

“He also implied that after we lost, I’d have to fuck you twice as hard as usual to feel like a man again.”  

Charles stills. “You’re joking.”

Indignation and anger rolls off of Erik in waves. “You would’ve tried to break his nose, too.”  

“How terribly crude.” After a moment, Charles props himself up on an elbow and leans over to kiss the side of Erik’s scowl. “Well, you certainly shut him up.”

Erik remains tense for another few seconds before his rigid posture unwinds and he turns onto his back to look up at Charles’ face. “He’s an asshole.”

“And because of him, you won the Golden Boot and you’ve got a World Cup medal hanging on your dresser. I say send him a fruit basket in the morning.”

Finally, Erik cracks a grin. “That would drive him crazy.”

Charles smirks. “It would, wouldn’t it?”

With a sigh, Erik reaches up to pull Charles down onto his chest, close enough for a kiss. Charles strokes a hand along Erik’s bare shoulder and feels the last of the tension seep from his muscles as he drags Charles closer.

“I still wish I’d gotten a punch off before Muller pulled me away,” Erik mutters when they pause for breath.

“We should send Muller a fruit basket, too. And as for you…”

Erik’s brow furrows. “As for me?”

“You defended my honor. I think you deserve a little thank you.”

As Charles’ hand drifts down Erik’s chest toward his waist, Erik groans low in his throat. “I don’t think I’m ready for another round.”

Charles splays his hand against Erik’s hip. “I’m probably not either,” he admits. They’re not nineteen anymore, fumbling around in locker rooms and having raunchy sex every hour. “But I’ll reward you in the morning.”

Erik smiles. “Is that a guarantee?”  

“You bet your skinny arse it is,” Charles promises, and seals it with a kiss.


	40. football AU again!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I just want football!AU Erik to play in the World Cup finals and be super giddy and Charles cheering from the side <3"

The night before the match, Erik barely sleeps. He knows he needs all the rest he can get, but he’s always restless before big games so come midnight, he’s sitting in the armchair by the window wishing Charles were there to calm him down enough for him to get some shut-eye.

As if on cue, his phone begins to ring, buzzing loudly against the nightstand. Across the room, Podolski stirs in his bed and blearily mutters something not very kind in Erik’s direction. “Go back to sleep,” Erik tells him as he gets up from the chair, collects his phone, and ducks out the door into the hotel hallway.  

It’s Charles, of course. No one else would call so late when they know he should be sleeping.

“Hey,” he says, leaning against the wall by the hotel door.

“Hey,” Charles returns. “I figured you weren’t in bed.”

“Yeah. Couldn’t sleep. You know how I am.”

“I do.”

Erik taps his fingers twitchily against the back of the phone. “How are you? What are you doing up?”

“Unlike you, I don’t have a bedtime,” Charles says wryly. “Raven’s over with Azazel and Kurt. Raven went to put Kurt to bed so I slipped out to give you a call.”

“That’s good. How are they doing?” Erik knows that as crushing as England’s inglorious exit from the tournament had been, Charles appreciates the time off. At least now he gets to experience the World Cup as a spectator with his family by his side.

“Good, good. Kurt and I knocked around a football earlier. He’s a fast learner, you know. We’ll make a proper footballer out of him yet. Of course, Raven wants him to go to college before thinking about anything professional but I’m sure we can get Kurt onto a youth team before he’s ten.”

Erik smiles. “It’s been way too long since I’ve seen him. He’s probably forgotten who I am.”

“Nonsense. He asks after you all the time. He probably loves you more than he loves me now. You’re his uncle who’s going to be in a World Cup final. Nothing’s cooler than that.”

Erik’s smile widens. “I’ll save my shirt from the final for him. Tell him that.”

“Oh, he’ll be ecstatic. And…” Charles’ voice drops low, into that seductive purr he only ever uses in the bedroom. “If you win, I’ll have a prize for you, too.”

Erik can’t help the sigh of frustration that escapes him. “I wish you were here.” Team hotels and their irritatingly strict policies about visits from guests without World Cup accreditation. He hasn’t seen Charles in over a week and it’s driving him to distraction.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Charles tells him. “We’re all going to be there cheering you on. Of course, that means we’ll be sorely disappointed if you don’t score.”

“Pressure, pressure,” Erik huffs.

“You always do better when the stakes are high.” More sternly, Charles adds, “You always do better when you’ve slept at least seven hours, too. You should be getting to bed, especially before….Who are you rooming with again?”

“Lukas.”

“Right. Especially before Podolski rats you out to your trainers about not sleeping.”

“Podolski never snitches,” Erik says, but he pushes off the wall anyway and puts his hand on the door handle. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Yes. Goodnight. I’ll give you a call before the game?”  

“You’d better.”

“Alright, I will. Best of luck tomorrow. Love you.”

Erik smiles. “Love you, too.”

When he slips back inside their dark hotel room, Podolski cracks an eye open and says, “If we lose the match tomorrow because you were up too late talking with your boyfriend, I’m going to kill you.”

“Go to sleep, you ugly thing,” Erik shoots back, climbing into bed. Setting the alarm on his phone to 7:30, he closes his eyes and drifts off sooner than he expects to.

All night, he dreams of scoring a goal in the final and sprinting over to the stands to pull Charles into a bruising kiss, heedless of the media and their worldwide audience. And the next day, amidst the roaring of the crowd, he makes it a reality.


	41. wow I do a lot of football AUs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Football!AU Prompt: Suarez bites Charles. Erik gets pissed off."

It happens on a free kick. Wilshere goes in a little too hard on Sturridge and earns himself a yellow card in Arsenal’s half, pulling everybody back around the penalty area. As Gerrard takes position by the ball at well over forty yards out, Erik settles himself next to Giroud in the defensive wall, one hand crossed over his abdomen, the other over his groin just in case the ball take a bad deflection when he leaps.

The whistle blows and Erik jumps as Giroud does, trying to block the shot. But the ball sails right over their heads, whipping past with impressive speed. Erik twists and lands on his feet just in time to watch the ball slam off the upper crossbar, right into the penalty area, right in front of two red Liverpool shirts. Their keeper Szczęsny’s on the wrong side of the goal, and though he scrambles to cover the vulnerable open net, it looks for a split second as if Suarez is going to get to the ball first and tap it in with an easy touch. But miraculously, Charles flashes up out of nowhere, shouldering Suarez off the ball and giving Szczęsny enough time to slide into a good position. Erik is turning to track Sterling’s run when out of the corner of his eye, he sees Charles and Suarez going down in a heap and hears Charles’ outraged cry.

A shrill whistle brings the action to an abrupt halt. As Szczęsny safely collects the ball into his gloved hands, Erik hurries over to where Charles is sitting on the ground clutching his arm, looking as irate as Erik has ever seen him.  

“He bit me!” he shouts at the ref, who’s jogging over with his hand in his pocket, reaching for a card.

Erik blinks in disbelief for a moment and then turns to look at Suarez, who’s thrusting his arms out in the universal gesture of “I didn’t do it.” Charles springs to his feet and yanks the long-sleeved arm of his jersey up to reveal a distinctive bite mark on his forearm, reddened but not bleeding. Still, it’s enough to have Erik’s blood boiling, and he’s half-surprised the glare he shoots Suarez doesn’t melt the Liverpool striker’s face right off.

“That’s a straight red,” he snaps at the ref who, to his fierce satisfaction, is pulling out just that. Suarez is protesting vehemently now, insisting that Charles ran into him, that it was an accident. “Accident?” Erik snarls at him. “Yeah, yeah, you always call it an accident, don’t you, you fu—”

He cuts himself off at the last second, not wanting to risk a red himself for foul language. But the scathing look he shoots Suarez says plenty, and it’s only when Ozil arrives at his side and puts a placating hand on his elbow that he subsides, whirling away in disgust.

With Liverpool down to ten men and missing one of their key goalscorers, holding onto possession and launching counterattacks becomes significantly easier. By the final whistle, Arsenal is up 3-1, with Erik netting the last goal of the game with vengeful force. Afterwards, he kicks off his boots in the dressing room, waits as Charles gives a rapid post-match interview, and then shepherds him to the showers, eager to clean up so they can get home sooner.

They have pizza for dinner and afterwards, Erik sits on the couch and examines Charles’ arm, frowning at the bruising. “He’s an animal,” he spits, rummaging through the first aid kit. Charles had told him he was being ridiculous, tending to an injury that hadn’t even broken skin, but Erik isn’t deterred. “I don’t know how the hell he’s still allowed to play. This is what? The third time he’s done this?”

“Fourth,” Charles corrects. He’s leaning his head against the couch’s back, eyes closed.

“If the FA doesn’t suspend him, they’re a fucking joke,” Erik seethes. “I hope he doesn’t play the rest of the season. If he does, I’ll—I’ll—”

“What?” Charles cracks an eye open. “Key his car? Steal his mail? Bite his dog? Does he even have a dog?”

Erik glowers at him. “Are you really joking about this right now?”

“I’m actually incredibly amused,” Charles replies with a helpless smile. “It’s really rather ridiculous.”

“He’s a grown man,” Erik growls, brushing his fingers over the bruise, “and it’s a football pitch, not a fucking playground.”  

Straightening, Charles pushes the first aid kit away from Erik’s hands and leans up for a kiss. Unwillingly, Erik relaxes at his touch; he never can hang onto his anger when Charles reaches for him so gently.  

“He’ll get his suspension, I’m sure,” Charles says when they break apart. “It’s happened before. But thank you for being so furious on my behalf.”

“I’m always furious on your behalf,” Erik mutters, which is very true. Charles is fouled far too often by far too many people, in Erik’s opinion. It’s only right that he speak up.

Charles grins and kisses him again. “My knight in Gunner armor.” When Erik still clings to the last of his disgruntlement, Charles whispers in his ear, “How about I take you to bed and let you mark me in all the ways you like?”

Heat sparks in Erik’s eyes. “Better my teeth than his,” he growls before scooping Charles up in his arms, making Charles laugh and clutch him close, all the way to the bedroom.


	42. youtube stars AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: one of the pair is a youtube star 
> 
> both of them are youtube stars in this ficlet. it's so!!! cheesy!!!

 

**The Daily Injustice: When Your New Neighbor is Hot and You Make a Fool of Yourself in Front of Him**

Published on Jun 15, 2012 by Magneto

“So about a week ago, I heard the apartment across from mine had been rented out to some new guy. This obviously meant one of two things: one, Stryker finally found someone who didn’t care about living near a mutant; or two, being the asshole landlord that he is, Stryker didn’t actually tell the new guy he was going to be living across the hall from a metallokinetic. I’m going with the latter because everything can always be chalked up to the fact that Stryker’s an asshole. Always. Case in point: that time he almost _evicted_ me because of some bullshit about baselines being uncomfortable with having a mutant on the hall. Seriously? We live in a world with mutant senators and mutant TV hosts and you can’t deal with one living in your apartment building? Grow the fuck up.  

“Anyway, that’s not today’s daily injustice, even though I could go on and on about discriminatory housing policies because seriously, everyone knows the revised Fair Housing Act does shit. You can check out the vlog from sometime last month if you want more info on that. I’ll toss the link below.

* * *

 

“ _Anyway_ , so this new guy, he moved in yesterday. Moving truck was out in front at seven in the morning when I went out for my run. Still there when I got back. Maybe it’s just me, but anyone with a moving truck has too much damn stuff. When I came to New York, I had a backpack of valuables and a suitcase of clothes. Probably why I had takeout for a solid month and slept on an air mattress, but that’s beside the point. When I get back from my run, I don’t see anyone so I run up the stairs like I normally do to get some last-minute incline workout in. I should also mention that I didn’t have a shirt on because it was hot outside and I’d taken it off toward the end of my run so I could cool down. So I’m running up the stairs without a shirt on with my headphones plugged in and _just_ when the Rocky theme song really starts going, I slam straight into a guy at the top of the stairs on my floor, just as he’s running the opposite way. We fall over. It’s the sort of fall that comes straight out from some rom-com shit because I fall on top of him and it’s only when I try to push myself off him that I realize—he’s not wearing a shirt either. So _he’s_ shirtless and _I’m_ shirtless and I’m sort of straddling him and then I realize all he’s wearing is a fucking _towel_ —

“Long story short, New Guy was taking a shower to wake up after his flight—which was from _England_ , by the way—and forgot all his clean clothes were packed in the moving truck downstairs. So he ran out in this little towel with—with _kittens_ on it, and all of you know how much I hate small animals—and that’s the story of how I met my new neighbor. Oh, and I think he groped me when we were getting up. He _definitely_ groped me when we got up.

“I’m not going to reveal details, but New Guy is definitely on YouTube and all of you would definitely recognize him in the streets. Let’s just say it’s going to be an interesting rest of the year.”

*

**Ask ProfX: Brief Digression**

Published on Jun 17, 2012 by ProfessorX

“Hey, friends. I know I don’t usually talk about myself on here, but I just wanted to let you all know that I’m safely moved overseas now and everything seems to be in working order. I’m still a bit exhausted from the transatlantic flight and the movers almost couldn’t find my laptop— _horror_ —but all in all, it’s been a pretty uneventful last few days.

“Can I just say, though, that my new neighbor is a work of art. No details because you lot are all too smart for your own good and you’d put two and two together before this video even ended, but let’s just say he’s got a _stunning_ arse. And if he’s watching this right now, let me repeat that for emphasis: you’ve got a five-star arse, mate, and don’t be afraid to come over if you need sugar or anything, yeah?”

*

**The Daily Injustice: When You Have a Preexisting Dislike for Your Hot Neighbor but Find Out He’s Actually a Decent Guy**

Published on Jun 20, 2012 by Magneto

“Sorry for all the personal talk—I promise I’ll get a comment in on the new Senate bill everyone’s up in arms about in Texas—but you know how you see someone’s work or their writing or their videos or whatever and you think, God, if I met this guy in real life, I’d probably punch his front teeth out, and then you actually meet the guy and he’s actually kind of really nice and charming and half the obnoxious things he says online don’t seem so obnoxious in person? Yeah, that happened to me this week.

“Also, Neighbor, if you’re watching this, I’d just like to point out that a, just because I’m saying this doesn’t mean I agree with you at all, and b, less obnoxious in real life is _still obnoxious_.”

*

**Ask ProfX: “What’s Five-Star Arse’s Name?”**

Published on Jun 29, 2012 by ProfessorX

“You know I don’t usually answer personal questions here, but my inbox has been positively flooded with questions about the man I mentioned a few videos ago so I thought I’d take a moment to answer a few of them here. I’m going to call him ‘M’ to make things a little easier, alright?  

“First question: ‘Aren’t you straight? Didn’t you date a girl last year?’ I did date a girl last year, yes, and we had loads of fun. But I’d like to introduce you to a concept now called bisexuality, which I’m a great fan of. I talked about it…oh, maybe last year. I’ll try to dig the video up.

“Two: ‘What’s his name?’ Like I said, I’m calling him ‘M.’ I have no doubt that if I mentioned his name, everyone would know who he was before I finished recording this. So no details.

“Three: ‘Is he single?’ I’m pretty sure the answer is yes. I haven’t really asked but we’ve been flirting so I’m fairly certain he’s single, yes.

“Four: ‘Is he a mutant?’ He is! He’s _fascinating_. I won’t mention his power because again, the no details thing, but I’m pretty sure my answer has already narrowed down the spectrum because there are only so many famous mutants on YouTube, right? Oh shite, I didn’t mean to mention explicitly he was on YouTube, but you probably already figured that out.

“Last question, and this one’s for you, M: ‘Have you kissed yet?’ No, but not for lack of trying. We’ll see tomorrow night, won’t we?”

*

**The Daily Injustice: Senate Bill 1085**

Published on July 3, 2012 by Magneto

“…I promise I’ll talk about the new bill in a second, but so many of you are asking me about my hot neighbor so I’ll say something about that first. First of all, yes, this account is still going to be used as a platform for the discussion of political and social injustice, not just about my personal life. I mention myself in a couple of videos and now a horde of you are threatening to unsubscribe because you didn’t come here to hear about my ‘gay issues’ or whatever. You know what? _Fuck off._ Unsubscribe right now and see if I give a fuck. And I’m not even going to go off on you entitled assholes because you know what? I had a date last night. Yes, with the neighbor. And amazingly enough, _nothing went wrong_. Do you know how often that happens? Practically never. There’s nothing wrong with him. Sure, he’s obnoxious and not my type at all, but you should’ve heard the things he had to say about SB 1085 yesterday. I haven’t had a debate like that in forever. And before you ask, yeah I’ll be seeing him again. If that’s going to offend your delicate sensibilities, I’ll point you to the unsubscribe button. There you go.

“Now about SB 1085…”

*

**Ask ProfX: “IS IT MAGNETO???”**

Published on July 30, 2012 by ProfessorX

“You can’t imagine how many variations of this question I’ve gotten over the last week. The short answer is, yes, the neighbor with the fantastic arse I’ve been alluding to these last few weeks is Erik, or Magneto, as you may know him. I knew it’d only take us making a few more videos talking about each other for all of you to make the connection. So that’s the whole mystery cleared up, isn’t it? And I’m glad it’s out because now I can talk about how _amazing_ Erik’s mutation is—quite fascinating really—and I—”

_Ding-dong._

“Oh, sorry about that. That’d be Erik, I imagine. We’re going out tonight. Bowling. Wish me luck!”

*

**The Daily Injustice: When People Online are Almost More Invested in Your Relationship Than You Are**

Published on Dec 3, 2012 by Magneto

“Stop asking me about Charles because I don’t do the personal, sappy nonsense on this account. If you’re really dying for details, go see our shared videos on Charles’ channel.

“Also, what the fuck is shipping and why does Charles laugh every time I ask?”

*

**Ask ProfX: “AM I INVITED?”**

Published on Feb 18, 2014 by ProfessorX

“Thank you to everyone who asked, but no, we can’t invite all of you to our wedding. I’m as bummed about that as you are, but Erik’s relieved, as you can imagine. He still wants to elope. I’m still saying no.”

*

**Ask ProfX: Hello from An Undisclosed Beach**

Published on Apr 19, 2014 by ProfessorX

“I promised to give you a shout-out on our honeymoon, so here I am. We’ve got a fantastic view of the beach from the window and the bed is _marvelous_. Really, I grew up in a mansion and the thread counts there don’t even compare. No squeaky springs either, which is pretty helpful for keeping quiet, if you know what I mean. Although Erik’s plenty loud to make up for it—”

“Charles!”

“Husband calls, I’ve got to g—”

*

**The Daily Injustice: Honeymooning & More  
**

Published in Aug 15, 2014 by Magneto

“Keeping this quiet because Charles is asleep. You remember that video I made about three years ago railing against marriage as an institution? Yeah, well. Turns out it’s not so bad after all.”


	43. undercover cop erik/crime boss charles AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: a scene which takes place in a stripclub

“Let me get this straight,” Moira said slowly. “You slept with him.”

Erik pulled irritably at the knot of his tie. “You put me undercover as a stripper in his favorite strip club. What did you _expect_ would happen?”

Moira rubbed her eyes. “I expected you to get close to him but not _that_ close. We both agreed—and let’s not forget you _did_ help plan this operation—that the stripper angle would give you the best access you’d have to Xavier while minimizing any risks. We never discussed getting in bed with him, and I mean that literally.”

“Things happened,” Erik muttered, still a little incredulous about it himself. One drink had led to another and then Charles had been kissing him quite insistently, and the next thing he’d known, he’d collapsed in Charles’ bed, blissed out and quite content to allow Charles to curl around him as they both fell asleep. It hadn’t been until he’d blinked awake in the morning and found Charles tucked snugly to his chest that he’d fully realized what had happened and how badly he’d fucked up.

Moira sighed. “Okay, well, it happened. We’ve got to be able to use this to our advantage. Where did you have sex?”

He grimaced. “Which time?”

Moira stared at him. “I’m not sure why I’m surprised.”

“There are a few personal suites above the strip club for well-paying customers. We stayed there for a couple of hours and then he took me home.”

“He took you _home?_ As in, his _house?”_

“Actually, it was an apartment.”

“ _Erik_.” She reached out like she wanted to shake him but crossed her arms at the last second. “Our surveillance teams have been working around the clock for almost a full year and they haven’t even been able to find out which neighborhood he lives in, and he just…took you home?”

“Upper West Side,” Erik reported. “He didn’t seem interested in trying to hide anything.”

“I should have put you on this case the instant it landed on my desk,” Moira lamented. But at least this news seemed to reinvigorate her: tapping her fingers against her mouth, she paced to the window and back, her brow furrowed in thought. “Okay, there’s got to be something incriminating in his apartment. He’s careful but everyone makes mistakes. Did you get the address?”

“No,” Erik replied, omitting the part where he’d been too distracted by Charles giving him a dizzyingly good blowjob in the back of his limo while his driver had sensibly pretended not to notice. “But I’m meeting him again today.”

“Alright, that’s good. Where?”

“The club. I’m expecting him to take me home again tonight though. I’ll keep an eye out for anything out of place.”

Moira nodded, the set of her mouth determined and eager. “I’ve been waiting a year to bring this guy down, Erik. We can’t afford any missteps now.”

“I know.”

Clearly unconvinced, she leveled a stern look at him. “We’re not going to have a conflict of interest here, are we?”

Of all the questions she might have asked, Erik hadn’t been expecting that one. “What?”

“I know you, Erik,” Moira replied shrewdly. “You’re one of my best agents. The Erik I know would probably rather eat a bullet than sleep with a suspect and compromise his objectivity on a case, so it begs the question: why Xavier? And is this going to be a problem?”

“My objectivity isn’t compromised,” he said, more out of pride than any real conviction. “Xavier is a job, MacTaggert. I always keep that in mind.”

She studied him for a moment with the same intensity she turned on suspects in the interrogation rooms. Whatever she saw in his eyes must have been enough to quell her doubts because she nodded finally and said, “Call as soon as you find something.”   

“I will.”

 

*

 

That evening when Erik arrived at the club for his shift, he found that Charles had left a note for him to hurry on up to one of the lounges on the upper floors. “He’s paid for a private show for the night,” Angel told him with a wink. She was already a bit flushed from alcohol and stood in the tiny locker room area unfolding the bills tucked into her skimpy skirt. “Lucky you, lover boy.”

Erik glanced over the outfits on the rack, trying to decide what Charles would like. The first night they’d met, Erik had been in a patrolman uniform, which had caught Charles’ eye very quickly. But then again, Charles definitely had a fondness for the sequined blue dress Erik had sported the night before, complete with a scratchy red wig.

“Go as yourself,” Angel advised from behind him.

“What?”

She shrugged. “Go as yourself, I said. You don’t think he’s seen enough costumes in place?”

He glanced down at his turtleneck and khaki pants. Nothing too impressive. But would it really matter? If things went his way, they’d be shedding clothes sooner rather than later. The faster they got done here, hopefully the faster they’d get to Charles’ apartment.

So he went up the stairs without changing, poked around down the halls, and eventually found Charles in the third private lounge on the right. The lights were already dimmed when he arrived, and Charles’ business jacket was slung over the back of the red chaise by the door. Charles himself was in the bed, reading a book as he waited.

“Erik!” he said warmly when he heard the door open. “Come in, please. Shut the door. Come sit.”

“I heard you paid for the night,” Erik remarked, obeying.

“I did.” Charles winked. “I thought we might retire to my place again before long, and I didn’t want to have to wait until your shift ended.”

Forcing a lascivious smile, Erik slid onto the bed and pressed his nose under Charles’ ear. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

“And I was hoping you’d say _that_ ,” Charles murmured, pushing Erik back until he was lying down so Charles could lean over on his chest, his gleaming eyes inches from Erik’s own. “I hope last night didn’t tire you out too much.”

Erik’s smile turned slightly more genuine. “Not at all.”

 

*

 

An hour later, he lay panting and boneless on his stomach in the bed, sweat gradually cooling on his hot skin. Charles got up to fetch a handkerchief to clean them both off and then climbed into bed beside him, plastering his chest to Erik’s back. He obviously didn’t intend to move for quite a while.

It was very comfortable and Erik would have gladly dozed off with Charles’ arm around him, but he retained the presence of mind to mumble, “I thought you said we were going back to your place.”

“Mm,” Charles hummed into Erik’s shoulder. “I’ve got the room for the night. Let’s just stay a while longer.”

It was a little frightening how easy it was to forget that Charles Xavier was a second-generation mob boss who ran a good portion of New York City and whose reputation involved several accounts of murder, extortion, and a hell of a lot of racketeering. He was charming, he was polite, and he fit in Erik’s arms like he belonged there. But there could be no forgetting that Erik was here on a case, that Erik’s entire purpose here was to put Charles in prison. He couldn’t afford to indulge in any sentiment.

Really a shame, he thought, a bit sourly. In another world, in another career, he would have really liked Charles.

Charles nuzzled his neck. “You know, for the record, I would have really liked you, too.”

Erik froze. “What?”

“You’re not bad for a cop. Handsome, intelligent, you play chess…”

Erik sat up so quickly he nearly fell off the bed. The metal legs of the table by the chaise trembled, ready to leap to his hand as soon as he beckoned. “You—”

Charles stretched languidly, unconcerned. “Knew about you? Of course I did. You don’t think Angel vets every employee here that I take an interest in?”

“ _Angel?”_

“I told her she could always vet them by working the bar, but she likes the tips. Plus, people like the wings. I suppose it’s a win-win.”

Erik was speechless. He didn’t understand. For weeks, he’d been working here stealthily, believing himself to be worming his way ever closer to Charles’ inner circle, while all this time, Charles had _known?_

“Don’t take it too hard,” Charles said kindly. “You did an excellent job with the cover. It’s just difficult to hide things from a telepath, you know.” He tapped his head.

Telepath. Oh god. None of the intel they’d ever collected had suggested that Xavier was a mutant, let alone psionic. No wonder he’d been able to evade them for so long. No wonder all of their investigations met dead ends so quickly. Erik was only here because Charles had let him—because Charles was _toying_ with him.

“So what are you going to do?” Erik asked, as steadily as he could manage. “Kill me?”

“Kill you?” Charles laughed. “That’s not the way I do things, my friend. I _am_ going to have to keep you temporarily though. At least until I figure out how we’re going to fix this problem of ours.”

“Problem,” Erik echoed. Ominous.

“Yes. You’d like to put me in prison and I’d like very much to avoid that. Given some time, I think we’ll be able to work out a satisfactory solution.”

“You’re kidnapping me,” Erik said flatly. “Are you going to torture me then? Threaten me until I promise to do what you want?”

Charles sighed. “Hardly.” Reaching forward, he took Erik’s hand and brought it up to his lips. Erik couldn’t deny the way his heart leaped at the kiss, or at the mischievous smile that Charles flashed him as he said, “We’re going to spend a few days getting to know each other better. You must have questions. I will do my best to provide answers. Is that acceptable?”

Erik had been a detective in Mutant Crimes for over ten years. Before that, he’d been in the army, where he’d learned all about coercion tactics and how to remain steadfast and firm in the face of them. He knew very well how to say no.

Instead, stupidly charmed by the guileless smile in Charles’ eyes, he said, “Yes.”  

 


	44. trying to make porn AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> initially platonic friends filming porn for cash

“This,” Charles declared with a huff, “is impossible.”

Erik held their position for another moment before straightening, much to the relief of Charles’ aching back. “No, it’s not. _They_ did it.”

“Erik. They’re fictional characters in an erotica. They don’t care about anatomical impossibilities.” With a groan, Charles stretched out his leg, trying to massage out a cramp in his calf. “Can we take a break, or do you want to keep trying?”

Erik didn’t answer. When Charles glanced over, his roommate had the book open again, his eyes intent on the page. Charles thought he looked a bit ridiculous sitting on the bed naked with a hard-on peering so raptly at a trashy romance, but he’d long ago resigned himself to the ridiculousness of their entire situation. They’d done stranger things for the camera than take advice from a harlequin novel. The several interesting costumes in their closets attested to that.

“You’re more flexible than that,” Erik muttered without looking up. He summoned a pen to his hand from the nightstand and circled something. Charles couldn’t believe he was taking _notes_. “I’ve bent you in half fucking you before. I’m sure you could get your legs up further if you tried.”

“I’d rather not break my spine trying to make porn, thank you very much. Honestly, can’t we do something else?”

Erik lowered the book enough to gaze flatly over its edge. “You’ve seen our view count. It hasn’t budged for the last three videos.”

“And it hasn’t declined either.”

“No, but if we want to keep making decent money, we need to be more inventive before our viewers get bored.”

“I really don’t think reading harlequin novels is going to give us any realistic scenarios.”

Erik frowned. “If you’ve got a better idea, now’s the time to speak up.” 

The cramp in Charles’ leg was finally easing, so he leaned over the side of the bed to snag his boxers off the floor. It didn’t seem as if they’d get any real filming done tonight, not while Erik was engrossed in his “research.” “We could always do the professor-student routine again. That one’s popular.”

Erik shook his head impatiently. “Too boring. Everyone does that these days.”

“Doctor-patient?”

“Too soon. We just did that last week.”

“That’s right, we did.” Standing to slip on his boxers, Charles hummed thoughtfully. There honestly wasn’t much they hadn’t done in the last year of their partnership. They’d run through every one of their kinks and even some that neither of them had liked very much, all to the delight of their growing audience. But Erik was right: some of their fans were already getting bored of their usual antics, so if they couldn’t come up with new video ideas, they could kiss their subscribers and their steady inflow of cash goodbye. 

“Don’t go far,” Erik said as Charles grabbed a shirt from off the floor. It was Erik’s shirt, but Charles’ was a mess (the harlequin scene had called for the tearing of shirts in a frenzy of passion, and after a coin toss, they’d decided that Charles would have to be the one to sacrifice one of his less beloved T’s). Erik watched as Charles pulled it on over his head and tapped his finger meaningfully against the book. “If I figure this out, I want to film it tonight.”

Charles waved affably at him as he headed out the door. “Yeah, yeah.”

He fixed two sandwiches and put one in the fridge for Erik later. Then he sat on the sagging sofa in the living room and idly scanned through his genetics textbook. A couple of pages in, Sean texted him asking for help on the online homework, so he pulled out his laptop and spent a good half hour walking Sean through the last eight problems.

Just as he was logging off, Erik shouted from his bedroom, “Charles, come here.”

Eagerly, he set his laptop aside and bounded down the hall. As many times as they’d had sex in the last year, it somehow never got old. Sex with Erik was nothing short of marvelous on a really good night, and Charles had always liked sex, even before they’d started this whole enterprise. Getting off with someone as skilled and attractive as Erik on a weekly basis _and_ getting paid for it was a bonus.

Plus there was the matter of getting to fool around in bed for a whole year straight with the guy you were hopelessly in love with, but no one but Charles needed to know that.   

Erik held the open book out to him when he entered. “It starts on the bottom of page 62.”

Charles took it and skimmed the scene. It wasn’t anything particularly interesting except—

“Azazel’s a cool guy,” Erik mused, tapping the pen against his open palm. “I’m sure he’d join us if we asked.”

Charles blinked at him. “You want…you’re suggesting…”

“We’ve kind of exhausted the scenarios with just the two of us,” Erik explained. “I figure a threesome will mix things up.”

“A threesome. Right.” Charles felt something cold sink to the bottom of his stomach and stick there. Checking to make sure his mind was sealed up properly to keep any emotion from unintentionally leaking out, he said casually, “I don’t know. That could be a lot of work.”

“It could rake in a lot of cash, too. People like threesomes. Threesomes are interesting.” Erik paused. “We could ask a girl if you wanted. That could be interesting, too.”

“Erik, let’s think about this for a moment,” Charles said, trying not to sound as desperately jealous as he felt. Even the prospectof sharing Erik with someone else made his gut twist painfully. “Asking someone else would mean splitting the money three ways. That would mean less for each of us—”

“Not if we made more than usual.” Erik got up off the bed and began to pace, clearly warming to the idea. He was still naked, distractingly so. “We could make the video longer than usual, too, so we can charge more. It’ll take longer for three orgasms instead of only two anyway, and you’ve got a pretty quick refractory period so we can milk that for all you’ve got…”

Charles swallowed. “I don’t want to.”

That brought Erik to a halt. “What?”

“I don’t want to bring someone else in. I mean, I’d rather not.”  

Erik gave him a quizzical smile. “You’ve never been shy about sex before. A threesome isn’t even that adventurous. Pretty tame actually, compared to some of the stuff we’ve done.”

“Maybe. But I don’t want to anyway.”

“Why not?”

_Why not? Maybe because I’m fucking in love with you, you idiot, and the idea of having to share you kills me, that’s why not._

Erik stopped dead. Too late Charles realized that his mouth had been moving, that he’d blurted the truth out loud when it was only ever supposed to stay safely corralled in the back of his mind where Erik would never know. _Oh fuck_ , he thought furiously, feeling his face flush hot. _You fucking idiot_.

“You what?” Erik said, sounding a bit faint.

Charles slammed the walls down on his telepathy to resist the frantic urge to just rip the memory of the last few seconds out of Erik’s head. He stared at Erik for a solid half minute, his mouth hanging open helplessly. Then he turned and bolted out the door.

He heard Erik call his name behind him, but he darted down the hallway toward his own room and shoved the door closed so hard the doorframe rattled. He braced his shoulder against the door in case Erik tried to open it and forced himself to breathe through his nose. His racing pulse seemed to shake his entire body.

Oh fuck. What had he done?  


	45. jock/outcast AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> charles is a jock. erik is an outcast.

Erik didn’t mind that Charles ignored him when they passed on campus. In fact, if he were being honest, he preferred it that way. Charles, popular as he was, was always surrounded by at least a handful of friends or acquaintances, most of whom Erik loathed. Charles was student body president, president of the university’s largest mutant fraternity, and captain of the soccer team. Erik, on the other hand, was known simply as that one freaky mutant with anger issues who had nearly gotten expelled last year for allegedly assaulting one of his professors (which he’d actually done, and which he’d had a good reason for, too, not that the university or anybody else had appreciated very much).

They ran in opposite social spheres and that suited Erik perfectly fine. It was just easier for both of them when they pretended they didn’t know each other.

Still, there had been something odd happening lately. Charles would offer him a smile when he passed and sometimes he’d even wave, which drew strange looks from his companions. And Erik, to his own surprise, found himself waving back.

These days, he wasn’t sure where they stood anymore, but their relationship wasn’t nearly as impersonal as he’d intended it to be in the beginning. He’d tutored dozens of Charles’ sort before: jocks, frat boys, trust fund kids. But none of them had gotten under his skin like Charles had. None of them brought him coffee before sessions and asked after his mother and texted him randomly during the day asking about his opinion on one issue or another.

It had occurred to him some time ago that maybe this was Charles flirting. Maybe Charles was—and it was almost laughable to think it— _interested_ in him. But no, that was impossible. For one thing, he was unlikeable and he knew it. Relished it. He liked being cut a wide berth wherever he went, liked going home to his apartment alone every night to rest and work in peace and quiet. And more importantly, Charles probably acted this way with everyone he’d ever met. British courtesy and charm and all that. It didn’t mean anything.

Besides, he reminded himself, he didn’t _want_ Charles to be interested in him. He knew the facts. Charles didn’t date. He flirted incessantly and slept around and was generally kind and engaging with everyone, but he didn’t do relationships. The last thing Erik wanted to be was some guy’s one-night stand, no matter how good the sex was rumored to be. Between his two jobs and his studies, he barely had any time for himself, let alone someone else.

Of course, his heart had other ideas, irritatingly enough.

It was thumping particularly hard this afternoon, with Charles sitting so closely next to him that their elbows brushed as he wrote. Charles was wearing that blue sweater that Erik kind of loved on him, and he’d just gotten a haircut, which Erik couldn’t stop staring at. The third time Charles caught Erik peeking at him out of the corner of his eye, he paused mid-sentence and smiled quizzically. “What? Does it look bad?”

“No, it’s—” Stylish. Hellishly cute. Better, because now his eyes weren’t hidden behind a floppy fringe of hair. “—fine.”

“Are you sure? Because you keep looking at it and I’m worried the back might be a little uneven. Why I let Raven cut my hair, I’ll never know. Here, can you tell—”

He twisted around so that Erik could see the back of his head. The new position leaned him nearly into Erik’s lap and Erik had to fight to keep his hands from dragging Charles closer and pressing a kiss underneath his ear, where he’d heard once that Charles was particularly sensitive. It didn’t help that whatever cologne Charles had chosen to use today was driving Erik to distraction.

“Erik?”

“Uh—” He cleared his throat and tried to pretend his face wasn’t hot with a stupid blush. “What?”

“My hair. Is it uneven back there because I couldn’t see in the mirror this morning and Raven swears it isn’t.”

“Oh, um…” Unbidden, his gaze lingered on the way Charles’ pale neck disappeared into the collar of his polo underneath the sweater. There was a line of freckles there that he wanted to press his mouth to, and he had to bite down hard on his lower lip to distract himself from the urge. “No, it’s fine.”

“That’s a relief.” Charles straightened and picked his pen back up. “Are you doing anything on Saturday?”

Erik pretended to check the calendar on his phone, even though he knew he’d be doing nothing more than sitting in his apartment doing homework and being bored out of his skull. “Umm, maybe. Why?”    

“I have a soccer game at six. I thought you might want to come.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Alright,” Charles amended, not looking at him. “ _I_ want you to come. Better?”

Erik blinked. “Why would you want that?” The question felt heavy and stupid in his mouth but his brain wasn’t quite making the connection. He blamed it on the cologne.

“I’m usually starving after a match,” Charles said casually, “and I thought we could get dinner afterwards.”

He actually had to tell himself to keep breathing. Staring back at his phone, he muttered, “You know how I feel about your friends.”  

“Not with my friends. Just us.”

So Charles _had_ been unsubtly flirting with him these past few weeks. That didn’t come as a surprise at all. What _did_ come as a surprise was how disgustingly hopeful Erik felt when he said, “Are you asking me out on a date?”

Charles gave him a hesitant smile. “If I were, would you say yes?”

Erik’s traitorous heart leaped somewhere toward his throat. His traitorous mouth said, “Yes.”

Charles’ smile brightened immeasurably. “Then yes, I am. I’ve even…” He reached for his phone and pulled up a memo before turning it so Erik could see. “I researched some kosher restaurants in the area. I don’t know what’s good, but they’ve all gotten decent reviews and they’re relatively close. Won’t take much walking. Or we could get a cab, I can cover that. I don’t know, whatever you want really. I don’t even know what kind of food you prefer. I just thought I’d give you some options…”

As he trailed off, his smile slid back into uncertainty. Erik glanced at the list on the phone, carefully annotated with bullet points under each restaurant suggestion, and felt something very warm swell up in his chest.

“We’ll figure something out,” he said, which seemed to be what Charles had been hoping to hear because his brilliant smile returned full-force.

Erik couldn’t help but smile in return.   


	46. accidentally married AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: one of the pairing has no memory of the other

The wedding band is steel. It’s not a cheap thing either: Erik can feel the quality of the band with his powers and he knows that this is not something he could have afforded on a whim, no matter how blackout drunk he’d been stumbling around last night. He has to remember to check his bank accounts later, he thinks a bit thickly, his skull pounding with a relentless headache. It’s going to be a nightmare to see how much cash he blew away last night.

As he washes some Advil down with water from the tap, he surreptitiously studies his new husband out of the corner of his eye. Charles is in the bathroom scrubbing blearily at his face and trying in vain to tame his wild morning hair, which is sticking up in all directions and refuses to submit to the comb no matter how Charles attacks it. He’s got the face of a nineteen-year-old, and the ruffled bed head only makes him look even younger. Too young. He’s a goddamned _kid._

The matching wedding band on Charles’ finger gleams in the bright bathroom lights when he moves his hand, and Erik almost throws up at the sight of it. He’s so fucked.

Blue eyes glance his way and Erik immediately drops his gaze, pretending to fiddle with his watch. Even though he’s fully dressed now—they both are, which is a distinct contrast to how they’d woken up—he still feels weirdly exposed under Charles’ stare. Telepathy is a frightening power, and he hates the prospect of it being used against him, hates the idea of Charles carding casually through his mind, exposing his deepest thoughts like overturning little rocks in a garden to reveal the dirt underneath. There’s a reason he and Emma Frost would rather eat glass than spend three minutes in each other’s company.

“I could help with that headache, you know,” Charles offers tentatively. He’s been hesitant all morning, trying to figure out where they stand as Erik hunches in the corner of the room and glares guardedly at him. He seems like a nice enough guy, but there’s absolutely no way he’s telling the truth about what happened last night. For one thing, Erik would never get so smashingly drunk he’d marry a completely stranger. For another, he’s not _gay_.

He thinks. He’s mostly sure. Though waking up with Charles’ naked chest plastered against his back and their legs tangling together hadn’t been an altogether…unpleasant experience.

God. He’s losing it. He’s really truly losing it.

“Erik?”

He jerks. “Hmm? What?”

“Headache. I could dial it back a little, if you wanted.”

“How?”

Charles wiggles his fingers vaguely near his head. Telepathy. Right.

“No, thanks,” Erik says, a little more sharply than he means to. “I’m good.”

Charles frowns. “Alright. If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

An awkward silence ensues. Uncomfortable, Erik moves to dig through his suitcase at the foot of the bed to avoid eye contact. A stack of dirty clothes is piled on the floor next to the suitcase, evidence of their night together. Erik hasn’t examined them too closely, but he’s almost certain the white stains on his formerly impeccably clean black slacks is come. Lots of it. It appears that they went multiple rounds last night and Erik tries his hardest not to think about it. Tries his hardest to banish the image of Charles naked from his mind.

“So,” Charles says eventually, moving from the bathroom to perch on the edge of the bed. He’s wearing Erik’s clothes, his own having been ruined in the course of the night. Erik forces himself not to dwell on the fact that Charles’ shirt was actually _ripped_ at the collar, or that Charles’ neck is marked with what looks distinctly like Erik’s teeth. “We should probably talk.”

Erik steels himself. “Probably.”

“So first things, first: proper introductions, since you remember nothing of last night. My name is Charles Xavier.”

“Erik Lehnsherr.”

“Do you live in New York, Erik, or are you just passing through?”

“I live here.”

“Oh good. Sort of difficult to carry on a long-term relationship, let alone a marriage.”

Erik panics for about ten seconds before he realizes that Charles is joking. Whatever expression Erik is wearing makes Charles’ cautious smile vanish instantly, and he backtracks with gusto. “I’m sorry, that was a terrible thing to say. I was just trying to lighten the mood and clearly…Sorry about that. Hangovers make me stupid.”

“Drinking makes _me_ stupid, apparently.”

Charles winces. “I can’t believe you don’t remember anything from last night, mate. You said yes and everything. You picked out the rings. Said they felt the best.”

“You didn’t think it was a _horrible_ idea to get married drunk off your ass?” Erik demands incredulously. “You should have stopped us!”

“Hey, I wasn’t at my best either,” Charles replies, defensive. “Just because I remember what happened does not mean I was in complete control of myself. Or in any control of myself, for that matter.”

Erik exhales irritably. What a fucking mess.

“How old are you?” he asks abruptly.

“What?”

Erik scrubs a hand over his face. “Please don’t tell me I’m married to teenager.”

That startles a laugh from Charles. “No. Do I really look that young? I’m twenty-six.”

Thank God for small mercies.

“If that’s your only objection to our union…” Charles offers a slightly mischievous grin.

He’s going to be a handful, Erik can just tell. “Don’t joke about…this,” he orders. “Us. I need time to process it and I can’t when you’re…” He waves a vague hand, not entirely sure what point he’s trying to make.

Charles nods contritely. “Sorry. Of course.” He stands up and nods toward the door. “I think we both need time to process this, but let’s be honest: we’re not going to do any good decision-making hungover and hungry. Want to get breakfast? It’s complimentary until ten o’clock and it’s only nine.”

How is he so fucking calm? Erik’s freaking out and Charles wants to go get _breakfast_ together like they’re an actual couple. Un _believable_.  

“Hey,” Charles says, more seriously this time. “You’ll feel better after you eat something. Then we can talk about working this out, alright? Promise.”

Erik exhales. Alright. It’s easier not to think about it now anyway, as if the problem will just disappear if he keeps his mind off of it for long enough. One can only hope.

When he walks toward the door, Charles beams. He claps Erik on the shoulder as he passes and walks along beside him, stopping by dresser to pick up the key card to the room, which he tucks into Erik’s jeans pocket. His fingers burns through Erik’s clothes, like hot flames licking along Erik’s skin. Whatever happened last night, Erik’s body remembers it: he wants to lean into Charles’ hand, wants to chase that touch with touches of his own. Instead, he clenches his hands into fists at his side.

But he doesn’t ask Charles to let go.     


	47. fbi agents AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: sniping FBI agents in love

Alex spends Monday morning making paperclip towers instead of dealing with the ever-growing stack of paperwork shoved to the corner of his desk. Normally he’d never be allowed to remain so idle, but this morning, Lehnsherr isn’t ghosting menacingly around the bullpen ready to pounce on them if he sees them so much as glance away from their tasks. At the desk across from Alex’s, Sean is napping in his chair, his mouth wide open as he snores. The only agent on the team currently doing any work is Hank, but that’s only to be expected: Alex is fairly certain Hank is genetically incapable of being anything less than one hundred percent productive.

He’s reaching across his desk to steal some of Sean’s paperclips when the door opens and Lehnsherr strides in, his mouth pressed into a thin line. Alex jumps to attention so quickly he knocks his paperclip towers over with a cascade of clatters. Wincing, he waits for Lehnsherr’s sharp reprimand, but the boss doesn’t even glance his way. The reason for his preoccupation is immediately clear: behind him, the door swings open again and Special Agent Charles Xavier hurries through, an affable grin on his face as he chases Lehnsherr across the bullpen.

“Come now, Erik,” he’s saying, “I was just teasing. No need to get huffy.”

“I’m not _huffy_ ,” Lehnsherr growls as he climbs the steps to his private office.  

Xavier follows him without missing a beat. “You’re being quite huffy, in my opinion. Adorably so, may I add.”

Charles Xavier is perhaps the only person in the known world who can call Lehnsherr things like “adorable” and not get his face snapped off. Lehnsherr’s lip curls into an automatic snarl but then twitches into something almost resembling a smile. He turns to shoot Xavier a significant look, and Xavier just shrugs a shoulder and grins. It’s unnerving when they do their silent talking thing, holding whole conversations telepathically. They’re in their own private world and it’s bizarre to witness Lehnsherr’s face soften when they’re together, his glare fading into something almost good-humored. Alex will never understand how Xavier does it.

“Fine,” Lehnsherr says aloud, rolling his eyes. “You can come.” He resumes the climb up the stairs to his office and adds, “Don’t forget—”

“Kosher foods for your mother, yes, I remember,” Xavier finishes, tailing him. “You know, if she makes latkes again, we’re going to have to run extra this weekend.”

“Pity for you,” Lehnsherr replies coolly. “You’ll get to try to keep up with me again.”

“I _lapped_ you last week,” Xavier exclaims. “No, don’t laugh at me, I totally did…”

Their voices fade out as they enter Lehnsherr’s office and shut the door. No one else even glances their way; Agent Xavier has become a regular staple in the Mutant Crimes bullpen over the last year and the fact that he and Lehnsherr have some sort of weirdly personal relationship no longer turns heads. Only Alex eyes the closed door for a moment, wondering if the two of them even realize how painfully obvious it is that they’re fucking, even if they like to pretend otherwise. For highly-trained FBI agents, they’re stunningly unsubtle.

Through the window of the office, Alex can see Xavier laughing. Lehnsherr smiles in response, just a quick quirk of his lips, but even that much expression speaks volumes. They’re so nauseatingly heads over heels for each other that it’s gag-worthy.  

Xavier turns at that moment and looks directly at him through the window. One eyebrow rises, and Alex thinks distinctly, _Shit_.

 _Erik says to tell you if you don’t finish your reports by lunch, he’s going to hurt you_ , Xavier says pleasantly. _And not in a fun way._

Alex very pointedly picks up his pen. Xavier smiles cheerily at him through the window and then turns away.

That’s the thing about Xavier: he’s nice and polite and so very British, but there’s a sharpness to him that you forget about because he remembers birthdays and brings you coffee and asks about your dog. He’s as full of hidden layers as Lehnsherr. That’s probably part of what makes him such a good profiler.

This time it’s Lehnsherr who turns to shoot him a narrow-eyed look, and with that, the morning reprieve is over. Alex ducks his head, reaches for the first file on his stack, and flips it open with a sigh.   


	48. meeting the parents AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik's parents show up unexpectedly.

For a man who prides himself on his vigilance and unparalleled situational awareness, Erik is a surprisingly deep sleeper. When the doorbell rings at an ungodly hour of morning—a bleary glance at the clock on the nightstand tells him it’s barely 7:30—Charles has to shove Erik in the shoulder four times before he even begins to stir.

“Mmph,” Erik mumbles.

 _Someone’s at the door,_ Charles tells him, too sleepy to bother opening his mouth.

Erik’s arm around Charles’ waist tightens. “They can come back later.”

That sounds like an excellent idea. The two of them had been up unbelievably late last night testing the limits of their flexibility and the durability of the headboard, so Charles is hardly in the mood to entertain company, not until he’s slept for another six hours at least and had a cup of tea. Besides, he’s naked and the prospect of having to get up and dig out decent clothes from the closet is horribly unappealing at the moment, as he’s quite comfortable ensconced in a cocoon of warm blankets and tucked against Erik’s long body. Burying his face back into his pillow, he lets himself drift again.

The shrill blare of the doorbell jolts him unpleasantly back to full consciousness. Neither of them moves, but Erik’s mind is quickly sliding out of drowsiness into wakeful alertness. After the doorbell sounds a third time, Erik mutters irritably, “I’ll get it,” before throwing back the covers and slipping out of bed.

 _Send them away and come back soon,_ Charles tells him, face still mashed into the pillow. The bed isn’t nearly as pleasant without Erik’s presence to warm him.

He dozes off again pretty quickly so he’s not sure how long Erik’s gone, but the next thing he knows, Erik is shaking him roughly and hissing, “Get up and put some clothes on, come on.”

“Erik, what—” The sheer panic radiating from Erik’s mind has Charles scrambling up in an instant. “What is it, what happened—”

Erik hurls his shirt at him. “My parents are here.”  

 _“What?”_ Charles bolts from bed, nearly tripping when the blankets tangle around his ankles. “I thought they were supposed to come this weekend!”

Erik’s mouth pinches with uncharacteristic nervousness. “Well they’re clearly outside now, aren’t they? Hurry and get dressed, I have to go let them in.”  

“I can’t— _Erik_.” Charles gestures wildly at his bed hair and his unwashed face and himself in general. “I can’t meet your parents. I look like shit. I was supposed to have the whole week to prepare!”

Erik’s already halfway back out the door. “I can’t tell them to come back later. Just throw some clothes on and try to comb your hair a little. You look fine.”

“I look _shagged_ ,” Charles whispers furiously after him, but Erik’s gone without a look back. A moment later, the front door opens and a woman’s voice exclaims, “There you are! We were beginning to think you weren’t home.”

 _Okay, get it together_ , Charles growls at himself, rushing around snatching up clothes from the floor. _You’ve met parents before, you’re charming, you can do this_.

Somewhat true. He _has_ met parents before and he _has_ been informed that he’s quite charming, but the stakes have never been this high. He’s never been serious with anyone like he’s serious with Erik, and the last, _last_ thing in the entire world that he wants to do is fuck this up.

His stomach is already beginning to twist itself into a giant, terrible knot. Oh God. He’s going to fuck this up.  

Somehow, he manages to retain the presence of mind to climb into his jeans and wrestle his way into a shirt. He’s just barely run his hands through his unruly morning hair when he hears Erik coming down the hall, a tense edge in his voice as he says, “Mama, Papa, I have someone I want you to meet.”

Panicked, Charles almost dives instinctively for the bathroom but before he can, Erik opens the door and beckons for him to come out with a jerk of his head. “You look amazing,” he says, just low enough for Charles to hear. “Come on, it’s going to be fine.”

“I’m going to throw up,” Charles informs him, but he follows Erik out of the bedroom anyway. As they head down the hallway, Erik reaches down to lace his fingers through Charles’ and leans over to whisper, “I love you, you know.”

The words settle the roiling in Charles’ stomach somewhat, and he musters up a smile. “I love you, too. If I completely scare off your parents, I am so sorry ahead of time.”

Erik laughs under his breath, his grin fond. “Come on, _schatz_. Time for them to meet the love of my life.”


	49. office romance AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> based on [this](http://pangeasplits.tumblr.com/post/81705597493/the-cute-guy-im-working-on-a-project-for-at-work).

Having worked in an office for the better part of the last four years, Erik knows very well the weight and feel of most, if not all, office appliances. He knows the fine lines of staple stacks, the scratching nibs of pens, the often-frustrating hum of the printer. If he focuses hard enough, he can pinpoint every speck of metal throughout the entire floor, down to the smallest thumbtack embedded in the bulletin board down the hall. He knows when things are in place and when they’re not.

It’s not the presence of the paperclip that snags at his attention. There’s nothing unusual about one paperclip in a floor full of cubicles, and Erik would have paid it absolutely no attention, if not for the fact that the paperclip was rotating, not once, not twice, but endlessly, over and over and over again, mindless in its movement. Someone’s being restless in the last cubicle down the hall, the one that’s been empty for the last couple of weeks ever since Erik fired the last intern. After Erik had seen about fifty applicants and rejected every one of them, Emma had taken it into her hands to hire someone new, who, as Erik recalls, is supposed to start today and whom Erik has yet to meet.

The paperclip keeps turning slowly, methodically. If Erik closes his eyes and concentrates very hard, he can almost feel the warmth of fingers brushing along the thin metal’s edge, gentle as a caress. He lets himself dwell idly on the motion for a few minutes before flipping open the file on his desk and resuming his work.

He’s normally not very easily distracted—he’d been in California for a job once and worked through an earthquake that he’d barely even noticed—but something about the continuous, almost rhythmic rotation of the paperclip sticks in the back of his mind. Every once in a while, the paperclip pauses, as if in thought. Near to it, a bobbing pencil ferrule indicates that at least some work is being done, even if just in quick scribbles here and there. When the metal ferrule stops, the paperclip’s rotations resume, one slow spin at a time.

Emma sticks her head through the door at half past two. “Meeting with the board tomorrow for lunch,” she reminds him. “Don’t forget it.”

“I already have it written down,” Erik replies, “and Alex won’t let me forget.” As PAs go, Alex isn’t half bad. The fact that he’s lasted three months already is testament enough to that.

“Good. I’m not carrying that meeting all by myself again.”

“Wasn’t my fault last time. I couldn’t help getting held up with the Worthington project.”

“Try not to double-book your days again,” Emma tells him dryly before moving to close the door.

“Hang on,” he calls before she can duck out completely. “The new intern…”

“Charles Xavier,” she fills in. “I was going to introduce you this morning but you came in late. Do try not to make him cry on his first week.”

“I’ll do my best,” he promises dryly. This time when she closes the door, he doesn’t stop her.

The paperclip continues to spin. Erik tries to ignore it.

Then, after a time, it begins to heat. It’s not the pressure of fingers this time, Erik can tell. He tries to push it to the back of his mind, but his curiosity is already piqued. Just a short break, he thinks to himself as he closes his eyes and pushes out his power, allowing his metal-awareness to sink into surrounding metal. The paperclip comes into sharper focus, each curve of it as visible and solid in Erik’s mind as his desk right in front of him. It’s stopped spinning, but it’s still warming, just its tip. Erik can’t figure out what this Charles Xavier is doing to it.

Well, shit. He can’t bring himself to focus now, not with this mystery on his hands. Time for a coffee break.

The break room provides a decent view of the cubicles at the end of the row, which is what Erik is counting on as he strides to it, pausing once to snap at Cassidy to stop playing Tetris. Someone’s already put on coffee so all he has to do is pretend he’s wholly engrossed in pouring himself a mug as he darts a glance at the new intern out of the corner of his eye.

Unfortunately, all he can see is the man’s back and a mess of untidy brown hair. The intern is wearing a blue business shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, revealing finely-muscled forearms that Erik gazes at for a moment. Turn around, Erik wills, only half-serious.

The man turns as if he’d heard. Blue eyes catch on Erik’s, and it’s immediately apparent how and why the paperclip is warming so strangely: Mr. Charles Xavier is teasing it along his lip, the tip dipping in and out of his mouth, tongue absently licking along its thin edge.

Erik tries very hard not to drop his coffee mug.

Xavier gets up, smiling slightly as he heads over. He’s still keeping that damned paperclip in his mouth, peeking from the corner of his lips like a toothpick. Erik takes a long swallow of coffee to hide his embarrassment at being caught staring.

“Hello,” Xavier says, paperclip clenched between his teeth as he speaks. “Charles Xavier.”

Erik shakes his hand. “Erik Lehnsherr. You’d be the new intern.”

“That would be me,” Xavier agrees, his smile widening. Erik stares at his mouth without meaning to. His lips are almost obscenely red. He can feel the swipe of that tongue against metal like a wet line against his own skin.

Jesus Christ.  

“Working hard then?” he manages, trying desperately to pretend he’s not distracted at all by the way Xavier is working his tongue against the paperclip now, shifting it from one side of his mouth to the other.

“Oh, very hard,” Xavier replies affably. His eyes gleam. “So very hard.”

And he sucks on the end of the paperclip, slowly, sensually. Erik can feel himself turning bright red as his cock twitches in his pants.  

“I should get back to work,” he says, his voice strangled.  

“So should I,” Xavier agrees. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Lehnsherr.” _I look forward to working with you_.

He’s been business partners with Emma long enough to know the feel and sound of a telepathic projection. Xavier is a telepath, he realizes with dawning horror. Xavier probably knows _exactly_ what he’s doing to Erik with that paperclip, damn him.

He watches as the new intern returns to his cubicle and drops into his chair. And then, as he continues to watch, Xavier turns his head briefly and winks at him.

Well, fuck.


	50. phone sex operator AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles is a phone sex operator. Erik is a regular client. 
> 
> based on [this](http://luninosity.tumblr.com/post/80819983886/hey-so-i-had-a-random-fic-thought-and-i-cant%22).

Charles is half-dozing on his sociology textbook when the phone rings. Jolting up immediately, he rolls over on his belly to reach for his landline phone on the nightstand. Plucking the receiver from the cradle, he steadies himself and answers, “Hello?”

“Call for you,” says the operator. After seven months of working for this company, Charles still hasn’t figured out her name. He isn’t bothered though; most people in this line of work prefer to keep their identities under wraps. “900, 46, 21.”

Leaning over again, he snags the notepad and pencil from next to the phone cradle and scribbles the numbers down. “Thanks. You can put them through.”

To his surprise, the voice that comes through a moment later is wholly familiar. “Hi, Charles.”

His mood brightens considerably. “Erik! I wasn’t expecting…” He glances over at the clock by the lamp. “You don’t usually call this early.”

“Well, I’m sitting in my office and I got bored.”

“You’re in your—Christ.” Charles laughs as he sits up. “What if they catch you?”

“They won’t. The door locks.”

“Still. You can get pretty loud.”

“I—” Erik coughs, sounding embarrassed. “So can you.”

“I’m sitting at home, Erik, not surrounded by coworkers.”

“…Point taken. I can be quiet.”

Charles glances at the numbers on his notepad. 900 means dirty talk is acceptable, which is only to be expected; Erik never chooses the PG option. And then there’s 46 and 21. “Office sex,” Charles translates aloud, “and fingering. Not feeling very adventurous today, are we?”

“I’m sitting in my office in the middle of the workday with my hand down my pants. Not adventurous enough for you?”

“Not after February.”

He doesn’t even have to mention the specific date. They both remember it vividly. Charles almost feels sore again at the thought.

“One of these days,” Erik growls, “we’re going to have to recreate that call.”

Charles grins. “I’m all for it.” Tucking the receiver between his ear and shoulder, he closes his textbook and shuffles his notes together. Dropping them off the side of his bed onto the floor, he opens the drawer of the nightstand and pulls out the lube. It’s half-empty, he notes as rolls back to the center of the bed. Time to go shopping soon.

“Are you settled?” Erik asks as he rustles around.

“Mm,” Charles replies, leaning back against the pillows by the headboard. “Okay. What would you like today?”

“Tell me what to do.”

“Alright. Your door’s locked?”

“Yes.”

“Then close your eyes. Are you sitting?”

“In my chair. Yes.”

“Put your hands on the armrests. Or your free hand, I guess.”

“Done.”

“Good. Now don’t move until I tell you. Just listen.”

“Okay…”

Pinning the receiver between his ear and his shoulder, Charles arches his back to push his pajama pants down. He wrestles them past his knees and down over his ankles and then drops them over the side of the bed with his books. He’s not wearing underwear underneath because he hasn’t been out all day, courtesy of his early morning classes being cancelled. When he informs Erik of the fact, Erik groans aloud.

“What happened to being quiet?” Charles asks, amused.

“That _was_ quiet.”

“Quieter then. Or should I have you gag yourself with your tie?”

“No, I’m—” Erik exhales loudly. “Keep going.”

“Okay.” Charles squeezes a bit of lube onto his palm and takes his cock in hand. It’s already half-hard in anticipation of a good time. Erik’s calls are always good times. He gives himself a few strokes to bring himself to full hardness and then stops, not wanting to go too far by himself.

“Okay,” he says again. “Tell me what you look like.”

“Um. I’m wearing a suit. Purple tie.”

“Are you hard?”

“Maybe.”

Charles grins. “That’s a yes, isn’t it?”   

“Yes.”

“Why do you even need me?” Charles asks with a put-upon sigh. “I’ve barely started and my work’s already almost done.”

Erik gives him a hushed laugh at that. “You think you can bring me off that fast?”

“I know I can.”

Erik doesn’t quite groan this time, but he makes a soft sound of approval. “Prove it then.” 

It takes Charles twelve minutes. Erik’s increasingly harsh breathing sends spikes of arousal down his spine, and he jerks himself off to the sound of Erik’s quiet gasps. Normally, he doesn’t masturbate when taking these calls. They’re supposed to make the experience as “authentic as possible,” as the operator explained to him on the first day of work, but usually this means becoming an expert at faking moans and orgasms. But with Erik, his orgasms are always entirely, gloriously real.

Afterwards, after his legs have stopped trembling, he says a bit breathlessly, “Good?”

Erik sounds equally winded as he answers, “Yeah. Always.” There’s a pause before he adds, “My tie is ruined.”

Charles laughs as he fetches the hand towel he always leaves in the drawer next to the lube. “Sorry.”

“Worth it.”

It’s a little thing, but the affection in Erik’s tone after sex always makes Charles glow. Wiping his cock and belly down (he’d hiked up his shirt but he’s still stained it a little, to his chagrin), he tosses the towel to the ground to be picked up later and flops back into the pillows. “Are you almost off work then?”

“In an hour,” Erik replies. There’s interference on the line as Erik moves around, presumably cleaning up. Charles pictures a faceless man tucking himself into his pants and wiping come off his hand and his shirt. Not for the first time, he wishes idly that he knew what Erik looked like.

Hoping he doesn’t sound too eager, he asks, “Will you be calling later then? At the usual time?”

“Eight o’clock sharp,” Erik confirms. His voice turns mischievous. “How are you feeling about a 311? Or 132.”

311 or 132. It still surprises him that they’ve spoken often enough that Erik remembers numbers in the order list, too, maybe as well as Charles does. He flips through his mental catalogue and raises an eyebrow when he determines what Erik means. 311 – voyeurism. 132 – bondage. “Oh. Oh yes. One or both is good.”  

Erik’s words curl with a smile. “Good. Thank you.”

“Until next time then.”

“Until next time.”

Even after they hang up, Charles stays lying there for several more minutes, a stupid contented smile on his face. Phone sex operators should probably not have feelings for their clients, he reflects as he stares at the ceiling. Phone sex operators should probably not fantasize about their clients during class like dumb star-struck idiots.  

With a sigh, he sits up and swings out of bed. He’s barely gotten his pants back on and pulled on a new shirt when the phone rings again.

“Call for you,” says the operator. She sounds even more supremely bored than usual. “800, 67, 59, 215.”

Charles suppresses another sigh and sits back down. “Put them through.”

 

*

 

Over the weekend, there’s a job fair at the university. Since the science building is hosting the event, Charles is asked to come early to help set up and coordinate the event. He arrives at 8 am, windswept and cold. A few other grad students are sleepily collecting coffee from a table of refreshments. Charles fetches himself a bagel and orange juice, downs both, and then heads over to the stations he’s supposed to be helping organize.

He spends the morning running around getting extra chairs and arranging tables in the building lobby so that when the students arrive, they’ll be able to go directly to the areas that interest them, rather than wandering around all the stalls aimlessly. After conferring with the other grad students, he puts the biomedical companies by the A wing of the building, the engineering companies by the B wing, and the non-science related employers toward the E wing. They help lug equipment around until 9:30, when the representatives from various companies begin to arrive. Charles and the others shake their hands, welcome them warmly, and escort them to their proper stations in time for the opening of the event at 10.

He’s directing a group of frazzled juniors to the Microsoft table when he notices the man staring in his direction. He’s seated behind the table with a banner advertising Stark Industries and he’s wearing a representative ID badge, but he isn’t talking with anyone who’s dropping by. Another woman, presumably his coworker, is the one engaging the interested students. He simply sits behind a pile of pamphlets, his eyes intent on Charles.

It’s more than a little unsettling. Charles has half a mind to go over and ask if he needs anything, but before he can, another group of students snag his attention by asking where they can find the military recruiters. By the time he’s dropped them off by the C wing and fetched extra batteries for a microphone being used in one of the lecture halls, he’s forgotten the man entirely.

Lunch is taken quickly in one of the classrooms upstairs. Charles wolfs down the provided turkey sandwich, drains an entire water bottle, and then slips out for a bathroom break before the next wave of students arrive. Only two more hours of this, he thinks as he checks his watch. Then he can get home in time for his shift on the phone that starts at 4.

When he steps out of the bathroom and rounds the corner, he nearly slams face-first a man coming the opposite way. “I’m so sorry,” he says as he catches himself. “I didn’t see you—”

It’s the man from Stark Industries, the one who was staring at him. The one who’s still staring at him now, with wide, amazed eyes. Charles’ brow furrows. “Um…”

“Charles,” the man says, and though his name comes out strangled, Charles still knows that voice. He’d know it anywhere.

“Oh my god,” he breathes. “ _Erik?”_

The man doesn’t say a word, just stares at Charles like he’s expecting Charles to explode into fairy dust any second. Charles stares back, pretty much expecting the same.

Finally, Erik asks incredulously, “What are you doing here?”

“I—I’m a student here. I’m helping with the fair. What are _you_ doing here?”

“Representing Stark Industries.”

“Right.” Charles’ head spins. “Right, you said you worked for an engineering company.” He just hadn’t said he worked for _the_ premier engineering company in America, if not in the entire Western Hemisphere.

“You’re a student?” Erik sounds flabbergasted. “You sound—you sounded older. On the phone, I mean. Not that I could really tell but I always thought…How old are you?”

“Twenty-four. I’m a grad student.”

“Oh. A grad student. That’s good.”

Charles doesn’t think he imagines the relief in Erik’s voice. “Don’t worry,” he says with something of a laugh. It comes out a bit choked with lingering shock. “They don’t let people under 18 work the phone lines.”

“Oh,” Erik says again. Then he lapses into silence, apparently at a loss.

Charles glances at his watch. “I’ve…I have to go. My lunch break’s over.”

“Yeah,” Erik says. “Yeah, okay.”

His heart thundering against his chest, Charles steps around Erik and walks down the hall. He’s barely made it three steps before Erik calls from behind him, “Wait!”

Charles stops. When he turns, Erik is holding something out to him. After a moment of hesitation, he takes it.

It’s a business card. ERIK LEHNSHERR, it reads. CHIEF ENGINEER IN R&D, STARK INDUSTRIES. Underneath is a number.

His heart might have stopped for a moment or two. When he glances up quizzically, Erik says, “Call me. Well. If you want to. I’m not…I’m not pressuring you or anything. I just want to—I don’t know, talk without being charged for once.” He pauses, his cheeks tingeing pink. Charles finds it disarmingly attractive. “Only if you want to,” Erik reiterates, his eyes skating away from Charles’.

“I…”

Nothing in Phone Sex Operating 101 has prepared Charles for this. He knows only vaguely that if he’s contacted outside of the phone service by one of his clients, he’s supposed to report it to his operator and let them take care of it. But Erik’s not just a client. Over the last few months, he’s become something like a friend—a long-distance friend to be sure but a friend nonetheless.

“I will,” he says finally. “Later tonight?”

Erik’s answering smile is eager. He’s hot, Charles thinks, a bit dazed. Fuck.

He can barely concentrate the rest of the afternoon. Even after the companies pack up, he has to stick around to stack up chairs and tables, so by the time he’s done, Erik and Stark Industries is long gone. He only has a little time to be disappointed before he has to rush home to get to his phone in time for his shift.

Finally, at 9 pm, he pulls out Erik’s business card and picks up his cellphone. Settling cross-legged on his bed, he stares at both for a while, considering. Then he punches in Erik’s number and hits call rapidly, before he can talk himself out of it.

The line rings only twice. “Hello?”

“Erik.” Charles exhales slowly. His pulse is racing nervously. He combs down his hair reflexively before remembering Erik can’t see him. Silly. “Hi.”

“Hi.” There’s a pause. Then Erik says, “I was hoping you’d call.”

“Yeah, I…Yeah.”

“I had no idea you were in the area,” Erik continues. “I had no idea you were in New York. If I had, I might have…well, I might have asked you out sooner.”

Charles’ heart jackrabbits in his chest. “Asked me out?”

“Yeah. Coffee sometime, or maybe dinner. If you wanted?”

“Yes. Yes, I want.”

“Oh.” The relief in Erik’s voice is palpable. “I didn’t know how much…I wasn’t sure you’d be interested. It might be a little weird, I guess, coming from a man who calls you for anonymous sex.”

“A little weird,” Charles agrees, “but not bad.”

“No. Not at all. Do you want coffee sometime then? We can pick some location between us?”  

“That sounds excellent.” He pauses before adding, “If it goes well, you’re welcome to take me to dinner, too.”

“Oh.” Erik seems to digest this for a moment. Then he says wryly, “And if that goes well?”

“Then you might be lucky enough to see 132 in person,” Charles says cheekily.

Erik groans loudly. “Oh god. Okay. Please don’t say anything like that when we meet. Not unless you want me pouncing on you in public.”

“311,” Charles sings.

There’s a bit of choking on the other end of the line, which makes Charles laugh. He sprawls on his belly and flips pillows off the bed with his feet, giddy and excited. Erik manages finally, “I’m going to take you up on that.”

Charles smiles. “I hope you do. It’ll be better in person than on the phone, I guarantee you.”

Erik groans again. “Hang up right now before you kill me of sexual frustration.”

“There’s an idea,” Charles says brightly. “How would you like a session right now, free of charge?”

He’s already reaching for lube when Erik breathes, “ _Yes_.”

 

*

 

TWO YEARS LATER

His phone rings while he’s sitting at a cubicle in the library, trying to edit his thesis. Barely glancing at the display, he answers, “Hello?”

“Hey.”

“Hey, Erik. What’s up?”

“Nothing. Sitting in my office.” A pause. “I’m bored.”

Charles pauses in the middle of crossing out a sentence. “Erik…don’t tell me you called me for sex.”

“And if I did?” He can practically hear Erik’s smirk.

Charles glances around and, satisfied that no one’s within earshot, whispers, “I’m in the _library_.”

“That just makes the challenge more exciting, doesn’t it?”

“Erik.”

“I’m already hard. I’ve been touching myself for five minutes. Are you going to help bring me off or are you just going to listen?”

Two years later and Charles still can’t resist Erik’s irritatingly smug seduction tactics. He bangs his head against the cubicle’s partition with a groan. “Fine,” he harrumphs. “But you do what I say.”

“I do love it when you take charge.”

“Stop touching yourself,” Charles orders. “Put your hand on your desk.”

“Oh,” Erik adds casually, “I have a meeting in five minutes. Do you think you can finish me off in time?”

Charles rolls his eyes fondly. “You are such a pain in the arse. Yes. Put your hand on the desk.”

It takes him only three minutes.


	51. charles and erik met earlier in xmfc AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anon prompt: i have this little theory; charles said he met erik when he was 17 and what if it’s true, what if it’s not just another mistake in the whole serie of movies. charles and erik could have met back then, and charles also can erase that from his memory like when he did with moira. maybe he would have expected them to meet again, maybe he knew it was him in the ocean, maybe he didn’t need to read his mind to know he was erik, maybe he expected things to be different now...
> 
> (takes place at the CIA compound)

He finds Erik on the roof later that night. Some part of him eases a little at the sight of the man sitting with his legs dangling over the edge, silhouetted against the setting sun. He looks beautiful, maybe even more beautiful than Charles remembers. After Erik had left, Charles had spent months convincing himself that Erik hadn’t been nearly as wonderful as Charles had thought, that he’d been infatuated, nothing more. But his memories have played no tricks on him—Erik is as darkly handsome as he was in Charles’s recollections, and Charles wants to take him into his arms, kiss the lines of his jaw and neck. He wonders, briefly, if Erik would still sigh a little into every kiss, like Charles is the only thing capable of taking him apart.

“Erik,” he says as he comes over to sit beside him. He isn’t feeling nearly as daring as Erik, so he refrains from putting his legs over the edge. Instead, he sits cross-legged by the ledge, conscious of the distance between them.

“Charles,” Erik returns without looking at him. His tone is cool, dispassionate. Charles is a bit surprised to find that it hurts.

“Won’t you look at me?” he asks.

Erik turns his head. His eyes are unreadable. Charles sighs and looks away, watching the sun set. “How have you been?”

“Spare me the small talk, Charles.”

“All right.” He juggles twenty questions in his mind and finally settles for: “Where have you been?”

Erik’s expression shutters even further. He presses his lips together tightly and his hands clench on his knees. “Why do you want to know?”

Why does he want to know? Maybe because he’d told Erik he loved him, and the next morning, Erik had been gone. Maybe because he’s spent the last ten years thinking about him, wondering if he’d found his peace, wondering if he was even still alive.

“You were hunting Schmidt,” Charles says, still watching the sky. “That’s why you left, wasn’t it? You wanted to keep going after him.”

Erik doesn’t reply. Charles already knows his answer anyway. Even after all this time, it still stings a little. He’d thought that those late-night conversations over chess and ice cream had meant something. He’d thought that in those few short months, he had changed something in Erik, had maybe given Erik something else to fight for instead of only revenge. But he hadn’t. That had only been the naïve, arrogant seventeen-year-old talking, the boy who believed he could change the world.

Charles knows a little better now. He isn’t even particularly angry anymore. He’s had ten years to overcome his feelings, and now, he’s certain he’ll be able to work alongside Erik on professional terms. They can be as impersonal as Erik wants; Charles may still want to touch him, to kiss him, to drown in his mind, but that’s physical attraction, not love. He doesn’t love him anymore.

“I graduated,” he says after a moment. “From Oxford. Two months after you left. But I went back to get a PhD.” He smiles faintly and adds, “Did I tell you I’m a doctor now?”

“Congratulations,” Erik intones.

“Thank you. I study genetics. Mutations. I’m fascinated by the subject, you know.”

“I know.” Erik takes a breath. “You used to always talk about the articles you were reading. On biology and Mendelian genetics.” His voice drops into a mutter. “I remember that.”

Charles feels his heart squeeze a little to hear Erik say that, to know that Erik didn’t just shove their months together into a box and forget all about him. After a moment, he shifts a little closer. “It’s been a long time.”

Erik nods.

“Have you been hunting Schmidt all this time?”

“Yes.”

Charles wonders how lonely that sort of existence must be. _I’ve always been alone,_ Erik had told him once, and Charles had smiled warmly at him and said solemnly, _You never have to be alone again, my friend._ He had meant that. He hadn’t expected Erik to choose to leave, to _choose_ to be alone. He hadn’t expected how lost he’d felt after Erik had gone, as if some integral part of him had been torn out of his chest, leaving a gaping hole he couldn’t fill no matter how many others he met and took home. None of them had compared to Erik in all his quiet, solid strength and anger—always the anger, which had brought Erik to his doorstep and then taken him away again.

“I never took you to be the government type,” Erik says into the silence.

Charles laughs. “I’m not.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Simple. Mutants. The CIA wants to learn more about them, and I can lend my expertise.” He waggles his fingers near his temple and smiles. “I have a unique perspective, after all.”

Erik’s expression tightens in consternation. “Does this seem like a good idea?”

“What?”

“Helping the government learn about mutants. Helping humans.” He turns to look directly at Charles, his gaze shrewd. “You once said that humans would never understand us.”

Charles averts his eyes. “I was young. I said a lot of things.”

“You said they’d be afraid if they ever found out about us. Your mother was afraid of you. Your stepfather—”

“Stop.” Charles stands, unsure of whether he’s shivering from the cold night air or from Erik’s words. “Don’t.”

Erik looks impassively up at him. “I’m only saying, Charles. You have to be careful dealing with humans. Especially the CIA. They already have a reputation for backhanded dealings.”

“I happen to trust them,” Charles informs him. “Platt, Moira—they’re good people. They just want to help.”

Erik snorts. “I doubt that. Watch yourself, Charles. They’re going to use you and toss you to the wayside once they’re done.”

“Like you did?” he says sharply. He regrets the words the instant they leave his mouth, and before Erik’s eyes can even widen in surprise, he turns and flees.

He doesn’t stop until he’s back in his room with the door safely shut. A bit shakily, he sinks down onto the hard CIA bed and wishes abruptly that he were in the familiar comfort of his mansion. He used to hate the place when he was younger, but that had been mostly because of the people who lived there with him. Now that he owns it, now that it’s empty, he finds he enjoys the silence. The quiet solitude of the mansion is soothing when he usually has dozens of voices bouncing around in his head at all times. Now, he wishes he could just run home and forget about all this CIA business because _Erik_ is here, and he’s suddenly finding it very hard to cope.

He thought he was over him. He had convinced himself that Erik had been a phase, that there would always be other people, except it has been ten years, and there has not been one person who has challenged and intrigued him like Erik did. Is that because there really is no one else out there who fits him as perfectly as Erik does? Or is it because Charles never really seriously tried finding someone else, because he has always secretly had trouble letting Erik go?   

He scrubs a hand down his face and sighs heavily. He has a bad feeling about working alongside Erik. Whatever happens, he doesn’t think it’s going to turn out well.


	52. handwavy wartime AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> written as a gift for kageillusionz. 
> 
> loosely based on [this.](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/trobador/76375569156#_=_)

His dog tags say XAVIER, CHARLES. His mouth says, “Hello, gorgeous,” and his hands, when they reach for Erik’s belt, say something desperate and unnamable.

They get their pants down without any fuss, trading lazy kisses along the way. Then Charles pushes Erik back and sinks to his knees.

Erik thumps his head back against the peeling paint of the wall as Charles licks at the precome beading at the tip of Erik’s already-hard cock. When Charles slides his mouth down the length slowly, so slowly, he grits his teeth to hold back a groan and, after a moment of hesitation, digs his fingers into Charles’ dark hair.

It doesn’t take long for Charles to prove that he’s cleverer with his tongue than he looks; despite the wide-eyed gaze of innocence and the youthful face, despite the fact that he had to ask Erik at the bar what the drinks listed on the menu were, he’s teasing Erik’s orgasm out now like he’s on his knees every night, practicing. And maybe he is. Erik doesn’t know the first thing about him.

 _You don’t have to be quiet_ , says Charles, and his mental voice is strange and subtle, like an echo of Erik’s own thoughts. _I can keep anyone from listening._

Still, Erik muffles his moans in his sleeve, and when he comes in a rush down Charles’ throat, he bites down on his wrist so hard his teeth leave red imprints in the skin. The sight of Charles licking his lips as he strokes himself off on the floor nearly has Erik’s cock twitching again.

They clean up with paper towels and hot water and spend a couple of minutes standing shoulder-to-shoulder in front of the mirror making themselves moderately presentable again. Not that anyone will notice, Erik muses as he tucks in his shirt and touches his kiss-swollen lips. Everyone in the bar is far too drunk or depressed to care.

He starts to unlock the door when he sees that Charles is bent over the sink, his hands braced against the gray countertop, his shoulders rising and falling with uneven breaths. It isn’t any of his business, he tells himself, hand paused on the lock. He already knows this guy’s story. It’s the same as everyone else’s in this sorry place.

“Hey,” he says anyway. “You alright?”

“Yeah.” The word is laden with weariness. He’d been so enthusiastic earlier at the bar, bright-eyed and cheery. Maybe that had been what drew Erik in: his energy, his wild joy. He doesn’t know why he comes to this bar anymore, not since it became the unofficial sendoff location for every soldier within ten miles of the place. The only people that come through those doors anymore are dead-eyed soldiers coming back from the front or new recruits so terrified of what’s coming that they come in the night before they’re shipped off to drink half the bar and then some. Probably trying to give themselves alcohol poisoning so they can stay in town a little longer, just a little. Erik knows that in times like these, every second counts.

But Charles—Charles had come in with a smile and greeted everyone politely and asked Erik his name with a firm handshake, and there had been energy in his eyes that had sent a thrill down Erik’s spine.

That energy seems exhausted now, leaving Charles looking small and pale and too-thin. The mirror is full of smudges and soap grime, and it distorts Charles’ reflection slightly, so that it looks sallow and full of shadows. Despite himself, Erik walks back to him and puts a hand on his shoulder. “You sure?”

“I’m fine,” Charles says, but his voice trembles on the tail end. He takes a deep breath and lays his palms flat on the counter. They’re shaking, just a bit. “I’m fine.”

Erik debates leaving. This is none of his business. He’s gotten what he wanted, as has Charles. They’d been under no illusions when they’d casually flirted at the bar; they’d known the conversation was heading to a quick encounter in the bathroom and nothing else. But something in Charles’ warped expression in the mirror makes Erik stop, makes him cross his arms and lean his hip against the counter.

“When do you ship out?” he asks.

Closing his eyes, Charles hangs his head and breathes. “Tomorrow.”

“First time?”

“Fourth.”

Erik blinks. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-nine.”

“I thought…” Erik pauses and counts the years. “You’re Psi-Corps, aren’t you?” Almost all psionics are; very few are in regular infantry or other branches. The army can’t afford to waste them. “Aren’t psionics supposed to get half a year off for every two years served?” It’s a precautionary measure, to keep the army’s most precious resource from burning out. But the war’s been going on for only five years. Charles can’t have been serving that whole time.

“The army,” Charles recites tonelessly, eyes still closed, “needs all its telepaths. Safety regulations are waived for Omega-level telepaths. What it means is, I can’t be spared.”

“How long was your leave?”

“Two months.”

“And you’re going back for…?”

“For as long as they need me.” Charles’ hands clench into fists. “God,” he says suddenly, his voice cracking. Something seems to shudder in his chest, like his heart is fluttering to get away. “It gets harder and harder to go back every time. I can’t do this. I _can’t_.”

“Hey.” After a moment, Erik reaches for him more fully, pulling him into his arms. “Hey, you’ll be okay.”

“You don’t know what it’s like,” Charles whispers, his fingers gripped tightly around handfuls of Erik’s jacket. “You don’t know what it’s like to be in a man’s mind as he dies, and then another’s, and another’s. We can only protect them for so long and to feel that…that _flame_ snuff out into nothing, it’s—it’s—” His breath hitches and turns into half a sob, and Charles hides his face against Erik’s shoulder, shame pouring off of him in waves. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t—”

“Quiet,” Erik says, hugging him tightly. “It’s alright.”

He’s never been to the front himself. He’s never been in the thick of fighting, never had bullets whizz by his ears, never gone temporarily deaf when a grenade explodes frighteningly close. He’s just an analyst, a desk jockey, a paper pusher. They tell him his job is as important as a soldier’s, as vital to the war effort as the men and women putting their lives on the line for survival’s sake. And he knows it, too, knows the importance of the patterns he points out and the codes he cracks, faster than anyone else can get through them. But that doesn’t change the fact that he wishes he were out there, wishes to _God_ his powers weren’t so damnably unreliable because he knows how much good he could do, how many bullets he could deflect and soldiers he could save.

But he doesn’t really _know_ , so he says nothing, just stands there solidly as Charles breathes raggedly against his shoulder, in and out, in and out, his pulse a wild thing in the curve of his wrist.

Finally, Charles pulls away and wipes at his cheeks with his sleeve. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, not meeting Erik’s eyes. “I didn’t mean to…”

Erik studies him for a moment, studies the fatigue set in the lines of his face and the dimness of his eyes. He’s becoming one of those dead-eyed soldiers. It makes a sharp pang rip through Erik, like a bullet to the heart.

“Hey,” he says, before he can think better of it. He digs his jacket for a piece of paper—a napkin, it turns out—and then fishes out his pen. As an analyst working nearly every minute of every day, he always carries a pen, and he’s grateful for it now as he puts the napkin on the counter and scribbles across it. “Here. It’s my address.”

Charles takes it slowly. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Write me,” Erik says. “Or send me postcards or hate mail, whatever. I don’t know. But…in case you want it, there it is. For reference.”

For a moment, Charles just looks at him, disbelief in his eyes. Then he smiles, a real, wide smile, and he says, “Thank you,” before slipping the napkin into his pocket. Tentatively, he steps closer, pulls Erik down by his jacket lapel, and, when Erik doesn’t move, leans up to kiss him firmly and sweet. It’s too quick, over almost before Erik realizes it’s begun.

“I will,” Charles says. “But only if you write me back. It can…” He hesitates. “It gets lonely. It’s lonely.”

Erik can’t help but press a kiss to his forehead. Something he can’t explain makes him promise, “Yes, I’ll write back. I’ll write every time you do.”

Charles smiles. “Thank you.” He stands for another minute breathing almost directly against Erik’s neck and then pulls back. “I have to go. My ride is coming in ten minutes.”

“Alright.”

“Don’t forget,” Charles says sternly as he unlocks the door. “Write me back.”

“I won’t,” Erik tells him. “I won’t forget.”

And he doesn’t, that year or the next or the one after that. There’s a drawer in his desk at home full of letters, and he keeps them all until Charles comes home. Every one.


	53. the host AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> written for black_betty. 
> 
> wanderer!charles and ian!erik. some knowledge of The Host probably required to muddle through this ficlet.

He finds Charles sitting on the edge of the ragged little garden, in one of the only patches of sunlight that filters in through the narrow holes of the cavern ceiling high above. He has his knees drawn nearly up to his chin and his arms wrapped around his legs, his expression distant and contemplative as he stares at the dandelions sprouting up in the slits of light.

He’s so beautiful Erik can’t breathe for a moment. He stands there and he can’t _breathe_ , his heart lodged high up in his chest, his throat closing in a swell of emotion he can’t even begin to understand.

He’s going to lose him. He’s going to lose Charles and the thought _hurts_.

Quietly, he picks his way over to him. Charles’ eyes find his when he’s still halfway across the cavern, and they watch as Erik approaches, skirting around the edge of the garden so that he doesn’t trample any flowers. He knows how much effort Ororo and Jean have put into this garden, knows how many hours Charles has spent down here curiously studying the vegetation, taking tips from the children on how to water the plants properly, on how to pick a flower and how to delight in its smell. They didn’t have this on my homeworld, he’d told Erik once. Gardens? Erik had asked. _Green_ , Charles had answered, his eyes wide and awed.

“Hi,” Charles says when he nears.

“Hi,” Erik returns. After a moment, he sits down next to Charles, close enough for their knees to touch. He _wants_ to touch. He wants so badly to kiss that mouth and run his hands down that face and neck, wants to wring beautiful sounds from the pale line of that throat. It doesn’t matter that it’s Alex’s body, it’ll be Charles’ voice, Charles’ pleasure. The difference is immense, but not large enough for Erik to have made a move. He can’t be that selfish, to touch Charles while Darwin stands by, grieving, afraid, frustrated.

Or can he?

He reaches out and touches Charles’ wrist. Blue eyes snap over to him at once, startled.

“Don’t do it,” he says softly.

“Don’t do what?” Charles asks, and that’s something he’s learned from his time with them: how to fake incomprehension, how to lie.

“Don’t let them cut you out,” Erik explains anyway. “Don’t let them—”

Take you from me, is what he means to say. Don’t leave me.

His breath catches in his throat. He tries to swallow but it only serves to make his eyes wetter. Desperation feels like a stone sinking and sinking in his stomach.

“I won’t die,” Charles tells him gently. He hasn’t moved toward Erik’s touch, but neither has he moved away. “The procedure that I’ve taught Hank—it’s safe.”

“But you won’t be…” Here. With me. You can’t be with me.

“I can’t stay,” Charles whispers, something scared and sad in his eyes that he can’t quite hide. “I can’t stay in Alex’s body. It’s not fair.”

“What about you?” Erik demands. “Cutting you out—that’s not fair for _you_.” Daringly, he takes Charles’ hand, slipping their fingers together and squeezing, hard. “I love you.”

“Erik.” Charles’ voice breaks on his name. His eyes are wet, too, but there’s a resignation there that Erik hates. “Please. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

“Don’t do this,” Erik says again. “I’ll beg if I have to. Don’t do this.”

Charles squeezes his hand back, so tightly it hurts. “What do you want me to do? Keep Alex’s body? Let Darwin hate me forever? Condemn a man to a life of—of mental imprisonment while you and I run away together? You know we could never do that.”

“I don’t know,” Erik says raggedly. “I don’t know. But I don’t want you to go. You can’t go.”

This time, Charles doesn’t say anything. He just leans forward and presses his forehead against Erik’s. His breathing is quick and frightened. He says, so quietly Erik can barely hear him, “I don’t want to ask, but Alex says it’s okay if I do. Can you…” He takes a breath. “I want to kiss you. Just once. Can I?”

For a moment, Erik just stares at him. He wouldn’t touch Darwin’s lover, no. But now, at the end of it, he’ll allow himself to be selfish, just once. Gently, he cups Charles’ jaw and presses their mouths together, slow and sweet. He lets Charles adjust to the sensation before deepening the kiss, running his tongue along the seam of Charles’ lips until they part for him in a soft gasp. It is Alex’s mouth, but he imagines that it is Charles’ taste, Charles’ tentative lick against his teeth, Charles’ breath against his cheek when they draw apart, panting for air.

“Thank you,” Charles says finally. Then he gets to his feet. “I should go.”

Erik stands, too, his heart suddenly beating a violent staccato against his ribs. “Now? You can’t do it now.” Not so soon. He’s not ready.

“Please. I just want it over with.” He reaches for Erik’s hand and then stops. “Please. If I hold off any longer, I might…I might change my mind.”

Then please, Erik wants to say, wait. Change your mind. I don’t care if Darwin and Alex hate me forever, I don’t care if it’s wrong, I love you.

Instead, he says thickly, “I’ll come with you.”

“No. I don’t want you to see—”

“I’ll come with you,” Erik says firmly, “and if—if we’re really putting you in a capsule and sending you back into space—” He has to stop and breathe for a moment. Each word is a struggle. “If we’re really doing that, then I want to be the one to do it. I want to say goodbye.”

Charles looks at him for a moment, tears in his eyes. When one slips over and runs down his cheek, his brow furrows and he touches the wetness with confusion. “Oh,” he says. “I’ve never…”

He’s never cried. He’s never seen the color green. Now there are so many things he’ll never do. It’s all Erik can do to not tackle him to the ground and lock him away to keep him safe from Hank’s scalpels, from Darwin’s hope.

“Come on,” he says, with difficulty. “If we hold off any longer, I might change my mind, too.”

After a beat of hesitation, Charles reaches out to take his hand. Erik curls their fingers together and forces himself to walk behind Charles to the medical ward, when all he wants to do is pull away.

Hank is already waiting as they arrive, as is Darwin and Logan. Erik can feel them eyeing their interconnected hands, but he ignores them. Darwin stares the longest, and Erik wants to snap at him, _You’ll get the man you love back soon enough. Let me have just this._

“Ready?” Hank asks softly, already outfitted in scrubs and gloves.

Charles looks at Erik, who looks back at him, terror spiking his pulse up. No. No, we’re not ready. Give us more time, please, just a little more time.

Aloud, he says with enormous effort, “Yes.”

He doesn’t release Charles’ hand as Charles climbs onto the table, doesn’t let go as Hank injects the anesthetic.

“I want you to count back from ten,” Hank instructs.

Charles swallows. His eyes are already going vague, but he focuses them on Erik’s and he says, his voice beginning to slur, “I love you, too. Oh god, I love you so much.”

Erik panics. “Charles? Charles?” Charles’ eyelids flutter closed, and his grip goes lax in Erik’s, and the grief that rises in Erik’s chest _howls._ “Charles? Please, wait. Don’t leave—Charles—” He shoots a wide-eyed look at Hank. “Wait, just stop it. Please, _wait._ ”

“I can’t. He’s already been put under, I can’t bring him back.”

“Charles?” Erik shakes his hand, and when there’s no response, he wants to scream. “ _Charles!_ ”

“Erik, I need you to step aside,” Hank tells him gently.

“No,” Erik growls, reaching for anger. He knows how to deal with anger. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

Before he knows it, arms are around his, dragging him away. He’s not aware of shouting, but he is, he’s screaming at them to let him go, to wake Charles up because he’s not _ready_ but Darwin and Logan are relentless as they haul him out the door.

“I’m sorry,” Darwin says sincerely. “I’m sorry, Erik.”

Sorry doesn’t mean _anything_ , Erik wants to roar at him, but he can’t breathe past the lump in his throat. They shut the door of the medical ward, and then it’s over. It’s done. There’s nothing left to do.

He sits against the wall and puts his head into his hands. It’s a long time  before he stops shaking.


	54. pride & prejudice epilogue AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> inspired by the ending scene of pride & prejudice 2005. written for pangeasplits 8)

The night was cool, almost brisk, but even so they had stripped down to merely their shirts and abandoned their boots on the stone terrace behind them. Their clothing lay untidily on the floor, cravats and coats left crumpled in a heap that would undoubtedly make the housekeeper scold them later for treating their property so carelessly. But Charles could not be bothered by such trifle concerns, not with Erik so near and warm and finally, finally free for Charles to touch at last. He could not keep his hands away; irrationally, it seemed that if he released Erik for even a moment, this beautiful dream would slip from his grasp quicker than smoke, and he would be back in his own house alone and lonely, as he had been for so many days before Erik had returned to him through the fog, more fantasy than man. Even now, their reunion seemed more delightful delusion than reality. Even now, he was waiting to wake up.

“Are you doubting us still?” Erik asked from above him, a hint of exasperation in his voice. When Charles glanced up at him in surprise, he added, “I can feel it, like an itch beneath my skin.”

“I am sorry,” Charles said, suitably apologetic as he pulled Erik down so that they were both sitting on the wide bench, so that he was close enough for Charles to reach for a kiss. “No,” he said, when their lips parted. “I am not doubting. I am reveling.”

Erik slipped a hand behind Charles’ head and pulled him closer. Torchlight glinted golden off his eyes, and Charles could no more have looked away in that moment than an ant could move a mountain. His heart felt so full it might rupture and burst, but it was not blood it would spill but a deep, endless affection, the likes of which Charles had never expected to harbor for any person before, and never would again. This man was indecently handsome, he was unbelievably gentle, and he was _Charles’_. His pulse sang at the very idea, at the thought that he would wake up to Erik’s face tomorrow and the next day and the next, forever.

“Let me feel that,” Erik whispered, leaning forward so that their foreheads touched. “Please.”

What had once been difficult for him came effortlessly now; opening his mind to Erik’s was like releasing a breath that had been trapped in his chest. Charles’ disbelief was unmistakable, his joy more so. The shimmering threads of Erik’s emotion wove gorgeous patterns in his thoughts, templates that Charles could spend entire weeks exploring. There was uncertainty there, too, gray streaks among the gold. _He is beautiful,_ Erik thought, and through his eyes Charles glowed in the fire’s light, brighter than stars, more striking than sunlit waters. _He is beautiful and he is mine._

“You,” Charles murmured, breathless, “are nearly as doubtful as I.”

“I cannot believe that I am allowed to keep you,” Erik replied, stroking his thumb over Charles’ mouth. “I cannot believe my luck.”

His sentiment echoed Charles’ exactly, the streaks of incredulity in his mind running parallel to Charles’ own. “You can be unbearably sweet,” he remarked with a smile, pushing forward so that their noses brushed.

“Only occasionally,” Erik teased, raising Charles’ hand to his lips. “You ought to savor it.”

“You know I fully intend to.”

They sat tangled together for an interminable period, and though they did not speak, the air between them was hardly silent. Somewhere, a bird gave a soft call that echoed through the closing darkness, and behind them, the lake lapped gently against the shore, roused by a breeze that made them shiver.

Erik pulled away to fetch their coats from the ground, and when he draped Charles’ snugly around his shoulders, Charles smiled at him and said, “Such a gentleman, Mr. Lehnsherr.”

“I do try to maintain at least the illusion of gallantry, my dear,” Erik replied, climbing back onto the bench.

Charles grimaced. “I wish you would not call me that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it is what my parents used to call each other when they were very cross.”

“Oh?” Erik leaned back and arched an eyebrow in question. “Then what endearments am I allowed?”

Charles hummed thoughtfully for a moment. “Charles, for everyday use. Darling, for when you are feeling affectionate. Treasure mine…” His smile hid a laugh. “…but only on very special occasions, I suppose.”

Erik shifted closer, stroking Charles’ knee with one warm hand. “Then what shall I call you when I am cross? Mr. Lehnsherr?”

Charles wrinkled his nose. “No. Why should we share a name only when you are cross? No. You may only call me Mr. Lehnsherr when you are…”

In the slight pause, the connection between their minds began to run rich with a color that stole Erik’s breath away and nearly dizzied him with the strength of the bond that lay between them. He was struck dumb by the feel of it, by the depth of the affection that lay nestled under his heart like a stone in his chest.

“Only,” Charles continued with a growing smile, “when you are completely and perfectly and incandescently happy.”   

“Oh,” Erik said, when he could speak. For a moment, he could do nothing more than look at Charles, at his husband. He could not have torn his gaze away for anything. Then, slowly, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Charles’ forehead. “If that is the case, Mr. Lehnsherr…” He kissed Charles’ nose and heard the sharp inhalation that passed through Charles’ half-open lips. “Mr. Lehnsherr.” A faint brush of lips against Charles’ cheek. “Mr. Lehnsherr.” His fingers touched Charles’ lips. He whispered reverently, “Mr. Lehnsherr.”

Heat blossomed between them like sparks leaping to flame, and the roar of emotion that had wrapped round them before was nothing compared to the inferno that consumed them now. Charles was smiling at him and his eyes were wet. Wordlessly, he leaned forward and sealed their mouths together and when Erik could taste nothing more than the sweetness of their mingled breath, when all but their pounding pulses had faded away into silence, the only thing left thrumming through his mind was their name.


	55. single father charles/parenting class instructor erik AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anon prompt: in which Charles gets off by listening Erik reading something that shouldn't be sexy - a recipe, a instruction manual, whatever - but somewhat makes it sounds sexy as hell, b/c his voice a bit too much for Charles sensitive ears

On Monday, Charles arrives to class seven minutes late, exhausted, cold, and unbearably hungry. Having spent most of the night catching up on grading, he’s functioning on four hours of sleep, and his stomach is now protesting his decision to skip dinner in favor of working in the lab for a couple of extra hours. He’d been tempted to just go straight home after closing up the lab, desperate for something warm to eat and then bed, but the thought of missing something vital in tonight’s class had kept him on the metro past the stop to his apartment, all the way to the synagogue.

He slows to a walk once he nears the classroom and takes a few seconds to catch his breath and try to comb down his hair before he peers through the window beside the door, trying to find a good moment to slip in. Most of the regulars are already there, seated attentively at their desks. Erik is nowhere to be seen, though Charles can hear his voice clearly, which means he must be walking up and down the rows demonstrating as he lectures.

He waits for Erik to pause between sentences before pushing the door open as quietly as possible. Despite his best efforts, the hinges squeak, drawing the room’s attention.

“Ah,” Erik says, stopping mid-stride to look over at him. “There you are, Charles.”

Sheepish, Charles gives the class a wave and slinks over to the nearest empty seat. “Sorry I’m late.”

“You missed the introduction to diapers, but you’re in time for the demonstration and the practice,” Erik tells him. “Now,” he continues to the rest of the class, “there are enough diapers for each of you to pair up and give it a try. We also have plastic babies for you to practice with. I’m going to model on one the these babies—” He digs into the large crate of supplies by the desk at the front of the room and pulls out a naked mannequin baby and a handful of diapers. “—and then after I’ve gone through a demo, each of you will try. All right?”

As they chime a chorus of agreements, Moira shifts over a desk to sit directly beside him and whispers, “Tough day?”

Charles glances at her and smiles weakly. “Is it that obvious?”

“You should have felt the mood you brought into the room. I almost fell asleep just looking at you.”

“Ah.” Charles winces and narrows the scope of his mind down, down, down until all that exists in his head are his own thoughts. “Sorry. A little tired today, I guess. I’ve had a telepathy headache since I woke up.”

As he pulls out a notebook and a pen to take notes, Moira asks, “Isn’t the baby due soon?”

“Two weeks,” Charles replies. His heart thumps unevenly at the thought. He’s not ready in the slightest and it’s all he can do some days to keep his panic in check. Glancing over at Moira to distract himself, he asks, “Where’s Sean tonight?”

Moira sighs. “Working. He took over a friend’s shift tonight at the restaurant. Nice of him, but he’s bummed about missing the class.”

“I can imagine.” Out of all the soon-to-be fathers that are enrolled in this class, Sean is one of the most enthusiastic ones. He always volunteers for demos, he’s always grinning no matter how late the classes are, and he’s forever showing off Moira’s baby bump, which has been growing week by week. In his presence, Charles feels infinitely more excited about his own coming child, which is a welcome change from the constant apprehension and stress he’s been under since Judith called him over eight months ago and told him shakily over the phone that she was pregnant.

Charles is in the middle of his dissertation, he teaches two classes, and he spends more time in his lab than out of it. Out of all the times for a condom to break.

He’s pulled from his gloominess by Erik’s voice, deep and strong as he commands the room with natural authority. He would make a good professor, Charles muses as he half-listens to Erik explain the mechanics of diapers. He seems to be a natural at holding the class’ attention and responding to their concerns almost before they raise a question. When Charles had first become a TA, he had had to work at building up a classroom persona to don during his lectures, but Erik hardly seems to concentrate very hard at all.

Hannah near the front interrupts to ask which diaper brand and kind Erik would recommend, and Charles tunes out a little even as he scribbles down quick notes in shorthand, letting the words flow over him without catching much of the meaning. Erik has a very pleasant voice, the little burr of a German accent giving his words a roughness that sends light tingles down Charles’ spine.

To make matters worse, he’s hot. Not regular hot, he’s celebrity hot, or model hot. Charles could easily imagine Erik as a Hollywood star; he certainly radiates enough intensity and he has a face for the big screen. People would swoon. Most of the single mothers and some of the single fathers in the class are already swooning.

Or, perhaps, Erik could be a voice actor. Yes, definitely, he could be a voice actor. The more Charles considers it, the more he wholeheartedly approves of it. Erik would make a killing at voice acting, with the way his mouth curves smoothly around sounds, drawing out syllables one by one with sharp clarity, each word precise and deliberate. He makes lectures on baby formula intensely interesting with just the inflections of his voice, and Charles has thought more than once about recording the classes, ostensibly so he can review the information later as needed. The idea of listening to Erik’s voice while he drifts off to sleep is probably more appealing than it ought to be.

“Charles. Charles?”

He jerks his head up, pen paused above paper. “Sorry, what?”

“I was asking if everyone was ready to try on their own,” Erik says, holding up a bag full of diapers. “Do you need me to repeat anything?”

_Repeat everything_ , Charles thinks. _Just talk nonsense to me all day long_.

He makes sure that thought stays locked tight in his mind and manages a smile. “No, I think I got it. Let’s do it.”

As it turns out, he very much has _not_ got it. Diapers are somehow damnably complicated, and he keeps forgetting when he’s supposed to wipe the baby’s bottom and which adhesive tabs are supposed to go where. Moira, of course, secures the diaper perfectly on her first try, and when Charles fails three times to get it right, actually dropping the baby on the third time, he rubs the heels of his palms into his eyes and just takes a moment to breathe.

“You all right?” Moira asks anxiously, rubbing his back.

“I’m fine.” He inhales deeply and exhales very slowly, but it doesn’t do much to calm him. How the hell is he supposed to be a good father if he can’t even change a fucking _diaper?_ He’s in way over his head. He wonders what the hell he’d been thinking when he’d told Judith that he’d take custody of the baby since she didn’t want it, that he’d take full responsibility and she wouldn’t have to sideline her schooling for the sake of raising a child conceived in a one-night stand gone sideways. He had money, he’d thought. He had plenty of resources. He was smart, financially secure, responsible. He had all the makings of a good father and he’d always wanted a child someday. Maybe not this soon, but he hadn’t objected to it, had thought that he was perfectly capable of balancing a child in his life on top of everything else.

He wants to go back and violently shake his past self out of that delusion. He’d been so rash and thoughtless about it, overestimating his competence left and right. And in retrospect, he’d had no fucking idea what he was getting into.

“Charles?”

Embarrassed, he raises his head to find Erik standing by his desk, concern fairly rolling off his mind. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” Charles glances at the still-naked baby doll and grimaces. “Okay, well, I’m a bit hopeless at this.”

Erik directs a glance at Moira. “How are you doing?”

“I’ve got it.” She scoots her desk a good three feet away to allow Erik more room to move between them. “I think Charles could use some help though.”

“Okay.” One hand on the back of Charles’ chair and the other braced against the desk, Erik leans over and says, practically against Charles’ ear, “What are you having trouble with?”

“Um,” Charles says intelligently. Arousal rushes through him in dizzying contrast to his fear at the growing certainty that he’s going to be a terrible, ill-prepared, clueless father. Erik’s hand on the chair is warm against Charles’ back.

“The…whole thing,” he says finally. “Could you just go through it again?”

“Of course.” When Erik turns and crooks his fingers, the nearest chair slides across the floor to them, and Erik settles down into it, pulling it close enough that his knees nearly touch Charles’ thigh under the desk. “Let’s start at the beginning.” He deftly secures the diaper to the baby, and Charles’ gaze snags on his long, adroit fingers. Fuck, he’s attractive.

“Pretend this is a dirty diaper,” Erik tells him, seemingly oblivious to the way Charles’ throat is going dry. “Now what’s the first step?”

“Er…” With difficulty, Charles focuses on the diaper. “Taking the dirty diaper off?”

“And how is that done?”

“Um.” Charles consults his notes. He’s drawn a half-hearted diagram that sheds no light on the subject. After a moment, he says uncertainly, “Can I phone a friend?”

Erik’s laugh is possibly the most beautiful part of his voice, gruff and low like a lion’s purr. Charles stifles the stab of arousal that spikes through his gut at the sound of it. He’s here to learn how to care for his _child_ , not to flirt and get laid. Getting laid was what landed him in this position in the first place.

That thought sobers him up a bit, and he manages to focus on the rest of Erik’s instructions as Erik carefully walks him through each step. He goes through it once himself and then hands it over to Charles, who feels a bit silly because the whole process is rather simple, once it’s been adequately explained.

He fits on the diaper once, then twice, and after the third time, Erik proclaims, “You’re perfect,” and Charles’ heart actually stutters in his chest.

Before he can say anything, one of the men across the room raises his hand to catch Erik’s attention and Erik stands up to head over, leaving Charles alone to practice on his dummy baby.

Once class ends, Charles can’t help but watch the other soon-to-be parents crowd around Erik making small talk. They’re all fond of him and thank him for volunteering to teach this class in his spare time, and he tells them it’s no problem, that it’s the least he could do for the community. He shakes hands with a few of the couples and answers a handful of questions from the more inquisitive members of the group. Then, before Charles knows it, they’ve all cleared out and only Charles is left with his notebook and his pen and his backpack.

“I’m glad you stayed,” Erik says, eyes lighting up once he sees Charles still there. “I wanted to talk to you for a moment.”

Despite himself, he can feel his heart leap. “Sure. What about?”

Erik comes to lean against the desk next to him, arms folded. “Are you okay? You seemed a little distracted today, and you came in late.”

Charles forces a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just—I have a lab before this, so I was a little late getting out of it. Sorry about that.”

Erik shakes his head. “It’s not a problem. I just want to make sure you’re okay.” He hesitates a moment and then adds, “It might help for your wife to come with you as often as she can. This class is intended to help both fathers and mothers, you know. She needs to know this information as much as you do.”

Charles blinks at him. “I don’t have a wife.”

“Oh.” That gives Erik a bit of pause. “Girlfriend then?”

“Judith isn’t my girlfriend,” Charles explains. “She’s…” He sighs and slumps in his seat, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We had a one-night stand. She got pregnant. She’s going to carry the baby to term but I’m going to be the primary caretaker. Hence this class. But…” He hesitates for a moment, his pride holding back any admission of helplessness. He hates admitting he can’t do it. He hates feeling like a failure.

“You know,” Erik says gently, “there’s no shame in asking for help.”

Something about the softness to his voice crumbles Charles’ defenses, and he rubs his eyes wearily. “I’m just overwhelmed by it. All of it. Having a baby—I’m not ready. I want more than anything to be a good father, but I’ve got classes and labs and no matter how many times you tell us that all first-time parents panic and it’s normal, I really don’t think I can do this. I _can’t_.”

“Charles.” Erik touches his shoulder, maintaining a firm pressure until Charles looks up at him. His eyes and mind are calm and steadying. “Look. It’s okay. You think I don’t know how you feel? I had Lorna when I was seventeen. I was terrified. I wasn’t even in college yet, and I already had a mouth to feed, a child to think of. Those weeks before Lorna’s birth and after it were the scariest times of my life. I was so scared I was going to mess everything up because I was a kid, and what the fuck do kids know about raising kids? But I got through it fine. I just took it one day at a time and now Lorna’s eight and she’s a fantastic kid, and it all worked out even though I was convinced I was going to be the world’s worst father. So you’re going to be okay, all right? It’s going to be okay.”

Charles stares at him for a long, long moment. Erik’s voice, even and sure, calms some of the storm of doubt that roils through his head. It’s okay, Erik says. It’s going to be okay.

He swallows past the lump in his throat and says, “Have you ever thought about becoming a motivational speaker? Because I think you’d be very good at it.”

Erik cracks a smile. “I’m only this optimistic and upbeat in these classes. You should see me in my day job.”

Charles laughs softly and shakes his head. “Thank you. I needed that.” He slides his notebook into his backpack and stands. “I’ll see you next week then?”

“Yes. Try not to come too late.”

Charles’ pulse skips at the teasing light in Erik’s eyes. He smiles and nods, shouldering his backpack and heading for the door.

“Charles, hang on.”

He stops in the doorway as Erik pulls a pen out of his pocket and scribbles something down on a sticky note from the desk. Then Erik crosses over to him and hands the slip over.

“Don’t be afraid to call anytime,” he says. “I’ll always be willing to help.”

Charles looks down at his number on the note and smiles. “Thank you.”

Erik smiles back, and suddenly, just like that, fatherhood doesn’t seem so terrifying anymore. It seems, for the first time, manageable.

“Have you eaten?” he asks, before he can stop himself.

Erik shakes his head. “I was dropping Lorna off at the babysitter before this. I didn’t have time.”

“Me neither. Do you maybe want to…I don’t know. Would you want to get something? With me?”

_Idiot_ , Charles snaps at himself. _Bloody bumbling idiot._

But Erik’s smile widens, and he says, “Let me grab my coat.”

It takes him a minute to close up the box of diapers and make sure all the dolls are back in their proper place. Then he slides into his coat and says, “Ready to go, Charles?” and his tongue curls deliciously around the sound of Charles’ name.

Charles grins, some of his exhaustion lifting at the sheer warmth emanating from Erik’s mind. “Ready.”


	56. new boyfriends AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for black_betty, who wanted Charles and Erik and a bit of awkwardness in adjusting to being boyfriends. Mostly just fluff!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [on tumblr here](http://ikeracity.tumblr.com/post/143220301074/i-just-really-wanted-to-write-something-short-and)

That Thursday, Erik spent the afternoon studying with Emma in the library. They always took the last study room on the third floor at the end of the hall because it had the most outlets and also the most privacy. As Erik thumbed through his bioethics notes, Emma scrolled through a long, dull PowerPoint for her European history class, yawning occasionally. Erik didn’t know why she even bothered reviewing; her near-perfect memory meant she retained almost everything after reading it just once anyway. Damn telepaths and their enhanced recall.

“Heard that,” Emma said, arching one elegant eyebrow. “It’s not my fault my mutation’s better than yours.”

Erik flicked a paperclip at her. “Whatever.”

Nose wrinkled, Emma picked the paperclip off her lap and laid it on the edge of the table. “Whatever. Are you almost done?”

Wordlessly, Erik waved his novel-sized stack of notes at her.  

“Fine,” she huffed. “Coffee break then?”

“No, I don’t have time.”

“It’ll take five minutes.”

“It never takes five minutes.”

“I bet you’d give Charles five minutes.”

Erik narrowed his eyes at her. “How long is this going to be a thing?”

“What?”

“You making fun of me and Charles.”

“Oh darling,” Emma drawled, “it’s never  _not_  going to be a thing. Sleeping with your TA? I mean, really? You’re never living this down.”

“How many times to I have to tell you, I didn’t sleep with him until after the class was over,” Erik said, exasperated. “We didn’t break any rules.”

Not for lack of trying — it had been Charles who’d insisted that they couldn’t be anything more than friends while Charles still had any control over Erik’s grade. Erik would’ve been more than willing to sneak around, but Charles had wanted to keep everything aboveboard. It was fair — he loved his job, and Erik had liked him too much to jeopardize that. He’d never been more eager for a semester to end in his life.

“Sure,” Emma said skeptically, and Erik just grumbled under his breath because he knew she was just trying to aggravate him. After a moment, Emma’s smile turned less sharp and more genuine, and she said, “I’m only teasing. How is he? How are you guys?”

Erik shrugged casually. “He’s good.” Charles was, in fact, brilliant; he’d sent Erik a text two minutes ago asking what he was up to and could they hang out later because Charles had free time tonight and he desperately wanted to fuck Erik silly, if he was amenable. Erik had barely been able to keep his reaction contained.

“Two weeks,” Emma said. “Azazel owes me five bucks. He thought you two wouldn’t even last a week.”

Erik rolled his eyes. “You think  _Azazel_ knows anything about relationships?”

“No. That’s exactly why I bet against him.”

Erik couldn’t help but grin at that. “Devious.”

“That  _is_  my middle name.”

A knock on the door caught their attention. Charles’s face appeared in the small window beside the doorframe. When he caught sight of Erik, he smiled sunnily, and Emma muttered, “ _Gross_.”  

Erik kicked her chair and waved the door open. “Hey. What are you doing here?”

Charles held up a carton of three coffee cups. “Thought I’d bring some coffee by. Hard at work?”

“Yes.” Erik accepted the cup Charles handed him, took a sip, and groaned, eyes slipping shut. “You’re a godsend.” After a moment, he added, “The best boyfriend,” just because he could now, and was rewarded with a pleased look from Charles.

“And for you,” Charles said, handing Emma her cup. “Coffee, black.”

“No sugar?”

“Nothing but darkness.”

Emma sampled it, then smiled in satisfaction. “Acceptable. You may stay.”

“I probably won’t stay too long. I have some things to get done.” Charles gave Erik a brief look, then glanced away. Then he glanced back again, longer this time. He kept forgetting that he  _could_  look at Erik now, just like Erik kept forgetting that he no longer had to avert his gaze and force himself not to dwell on how gorgeous Charles’s mouth was, or how strong his forearms looked with his sleeves rolled up. It was a revelation, to be allowed to stare. Erik enjoyed it enormously.

“Please get a room,” Emma said flatly.

“We’re not doing anything,” Erik protested.

“You’re eyefucking, and it’s making me gag.”

“There’s no such thing as  _eyefucking_.”

“Yes, there is. You’re doing it.”

“We are kind of doing it,” Charles said, but his cheeks were flushed cheerily and Erik couldn’t look away. He was gorgeous. Always had been, but now he was gorgeous  _and_  he was Erik’s, and sometimes that fact made it difficult to  breathe properly.

Emma snapped her laptop shut and got up. “I’m taking a bathroom break. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes, and we’re going to keep studying.” She levelled a stern look on Erik. “Understood?”

“Mhhm,” Erik said distractedly.

Emma muttered something that might have been, “ _Hopeless_ ,” and stalked out.

As soon as she was gone, Charles took her chair and pulled it close. Erik practically tossed his coffee on the table to free his hand up to grab Charles’s collar and tug him closer. They kissed deeply and sloppily, and Erik tried to make himself not need air because pausing to breathe sounded like a terrible idea. When they finally, reluctantly separated, Charles’s eyes were bright and Erik’s lip stung from where Charles had bitten down a little too hard.

“Sorry about that,” Charles said breathlessly, touching his finger to the sore spot.

“It’s okay.” Erik grinned. “We’ll get better with practice.”

Charles grinned, too. “Yes. Lots of practice.”

They kissed for another minute or so, more gently this time, but the stiff wooden study chairs weren’t really conducive towards making out, and besides, Erik really did have an exam to study for.

“I thought you said you’d be free tonight,” Charles said, casting a glance over Erik’s notes scattered all over the desk.

Erik sighed. “I will be. Kind of. I’ll take a break.”

“A break. Erik…” Charles leaned closer, his voice dropping into a mischievous purr that weakened Erik’s knees even sitting down. “The things I want to do to you tonight will take more time than a  _quickie_.”

There was a flash of images in his head: Charles sucking on the head of Erik’s cock, eyes lidded, mouth spit-shiny and so tight; Charles pressing two fingers into Erik, stretching him open far too slowly; Charles on his belly with his ass presented as Erik returned the favor, inch for inch —

It was over in a second, maybe two, but it left Erik utterly dazed and horribly  _hard_. “Uh…” he said stupidly. He glanced down at his stack of notes and watched the words swim across the page as his pulse pounded in his temple. “I can be done with studying now. Fuck bioethics anyway.”  

Charles laughed and touched Erik’s cheek fondly. “As much as I would love to take you back to my place right now and tear off all your clothes, I can’t in good conscience encourage you to skip studying. Tomorrow night, after your exam’s over.”

Erik groaned. “I can’t wait until tomorrow. I mean…” He pointed down to his groin, where his cock was making a very noticeable outline in his sweatpants. “You can’t leave me like this!”

Charles grinned wickedly. “Why can’t I?”

“Because — ” Erik spluttered. “Because that would be  _evil?”_

Charles laughed. “I never claimed to be good. But I kid, darling — I’ll just — ”

There was a strange pressure against the back of his head, and then all of Erik’s arousal drained from him at once. The fog that had descended over his mind cleared off, and his cock lost interest in the proceedings, slowly softening against his thigh. Within a couple of minutes, he was presentable again.

“You know,” Erik remarked, “I like it better when you make my erection go away with your mouth. Or your hands.”

Charles smirked. “Ace your exam tomorrow, and then we’ll talk.”  

“You’re terrible,” Erik grumbled. “You’re a terrible tease. You’re a menace to society.”

“Probably,” Charles agreed jovially. When he pressed a chaste, sweet kiss against the side of Erik’s mouth, it was impossible to stay annoyed with him. Erik sighed, curved a hand around Charles’s nape, and tried to calculate how much longer it would take him to slog through his notes, and if there was even the slightest chance he could see Charles tonight. Maybe if he skipped dinner…

“Don’t do that.”

“You’re reading my mind?”

“It’s hard not to when you’re thinking right at me.”

“I know. It’s just…” Erik shrugged. “It’s kind of weird after you spent a whole semester not doing it.”

“Because it’s school policy that I don’t.” Charles frowned, drawing back slightly. “Weird good or weird bad?”

Erik caught his hand to keep him from retreating any further. “Weird  _good_ , of course. It’ll just take some getting used to. Like everything else.”

Smile returning, Charles curled their fingers together. “Like everything else.” He kissed Erik on the mouth again and then stood up. “I’d better get out of here before your friend gets back. I’ll see you later.”

“Tonight?” Erik said hopefully.  

“If you finish studying.”

Erik let his gaze slide down Charles’s body in obvious innuendo. “I have a pretty good incentive to.”  

Charles grinned. “Then I’ll see you later, darling.”

_Darling_. He would never, ever get tired of hearing Charles call him that. “Bye.”

Not even ten seconds after Charles disappeared, Emma opened the door and slipped back in. “Oh good,” she said. “You still have clothes on.”

Erik snorted. “You really think we could’ve gotten off in the ten minutes you were gone? Give us some credit.”

“Oh trust me, honey,” Emma said dryly, “I think ten minutes is giving boys your age _far_  too much credit.”

“Shut up.”

Reclaiming her seat, Emma picked up her pen and eyed him. “So are you going to be productive or are you going to be completely useless now that you’ve seen him for five seconds?”

“Not  _useless._ I  _am_  capable of thinking of other things beyond—”

His phone chimed, and he paused to check it. When he saw Charles’s name on the screen, he couldn’t help but grin, and Emma rolled her eyes in elegant exasperation. “You two are hopeless and disgusting.”

“Yes,” Erik said gleefully, and went to text Charles back.


	57. erik runs into his one-night stand's roommate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for black_betty. Erik runs into his one-night stand's roommate, who happens to be very naked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [on tumblr here](http://ikeracity.tumblr.com/post/143299222634/another-thing-for-blackbetty-d-erik-running)

Erik woke up to the trifecta of awfulness: hungover, exhausted, and in someone else’s bed. As soon as he opened his eyes and found an unfamiliar mop of brown hair sprawled across the pillow next to him, as well as a horrible Slap Shot movie poster on the wall, he squeezed his eyes shut again and tried to swallow back the urge to throw up.

After a minute, the nausea passed, and he opened his eyes again and blinked. Slowly, the room gained definition in the dimness. It was larger than Erik’s room and infinitely messier: there were clothes strewn all over the floor, takeout boxes piled high in the inadequate wire mesh trashcan, fat binders leaning haphazardly against each other on the cluttered desk, and tacky posters plastered all over every inch of wall space. Whoever this guy was, he had the worst taste in movies  _and_ music, Erik thought disgustedly. And something in the direction of the takeout boxes was beginning to rot. He caught a whiff of it and nearly gagged.  

His head pounded on relentlessly. Eyes barely cracked open, he leaned over the side of the bed and tried to locate his clothes. He found his jeans easily enough by the feel his cellphone inside the front pocket. Thankfully his boxers were tucked inside — apparently they’d been in a hurry last night, stripping off — and when he finally managed to extricate himself from the bed sheets and stand up without falling over, he slipped them on hurriedly. Unfortunately, his shirt was nowhere to be found. It was probably lost somewhere in the heaps of laundry all over the floor, in which case Erik didn’t want it back anyway. The gross caveman could keep it.

Speaking of. Erik turned back and squinted at the guy, who was lying on his belly snoring softly and drooling into the pillow. Tall. Long-legged. Muscled as hell. Broad shoulders, nicely defined arms, pretty excellent naked back. Not bad. At least that explained why Erik had been lured into this disaster of a room that would’ve made an FDA inspector pass out. It was distinctly less exciting sober than it had been drunk.

He debated leaving a note, but he didn’t have a pen and there was no way he’d be finding one in here. Besides, it had been nice but it hadn’t been anything  _mind-blowing_. They’d both agreed beforehand that they were only looking for one-time deals. So Erik felt less bad about sneaking out.

He did really have to pee though. Bathroom first.

He crept carefully through the piles of detritus on the floor and eased the bedroom door open. He could feel the bathroom down the hall to the left — pipes, a tub, the shape of a toilet — and made a beeline for it.

Later, he’d insist that it was the hangover that made him miss the very important fact that those water pipes had been scalding hot only minutes ago, which meant that someone was in the bathroom, which meant that when Erik twisted the doorknob and tossed the door open, he came face-to-face with a startled, wide-eyed boy who was  _completely naked_.

“Ex _cuse_  me!” the boy shouted, scrambling for a towel.

Erik jumped as if he’d been electrocuted. “Holy shit. I — I thought — ” Caveman Guy had a roommate? Why the hell hadn’t he said? Though if he had, Erik probably wouldn’t have remembered. But  _still_. “I’m sorry, I — I was with — ” Damn, what the fuck was the guy’s name? “Your roommate — ”

“Can you just shut the door?” the guy demanded. His posh, rich accent made the command even sharper. Face burning, Erik slammed the door shut and then stood there frozen in the hall, heart hurling itself against his ribs in annoyance and mortification. What the hell just happened? Walking in on naked people in the bathroom didn’t  _happen_  to real people!

The door swung open again. This time the British guy was fully dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, which was kind of disappointing. He’d had a really nice ass.

“Excuse me,” Hot British Guy said loudly. “Don’t think about my ass.”

“Wh — ” Had he said that out loud? Fuck, he must still be drunk.

“No, you didn’t. I’m a telepath. Just overheard.”

 _FUCK!_  Erik thought reflexively, and Hot British Guy flinched back, pain crossing his face in a spasm. “Look,” he said tightly, “you should probably get some water. Your head’s killing me.”  

“You can feel this?” Erik asked, meaning the whole headache situation, which was steadily growing less and less bearable. When Hot British Guy nodded, Erik grimaced and said, “Sorry. That sucks.”

“You have no idea,” Hot British Guy muttered. “Kitchen’s that way.”

Erik looked in the direction he pointed and nodded. He made it a couple of steps before staggering woozily into the wall and resting there for a moment to catch his balance. After a moment, Hot British Guy —

“My name is Charles,” he said pointedly.

“Oh.” Erik turned to look at him. “I’m Erik.”

“I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but this is not how I envisioned my Saturday morning going.” Charles took his elbow and steered him out of the hallway and into the living room, where Erik promptly collapsed down onto the larger of the two leather couches. Very nice leather couches, too, he noted as he pressed his cheek against the arm. Nice quality.

He closed his eyes for a few seconds, and the next thing he knew, Charles was nudging him with a huge glass of ice water and a bagel. Erik sat up and got dizzy enough that he had to lie back down.

“You look terrible,” Charles said. He was sitting on the edge of the coffee table, leaning forward to peer at Erik’s face. “How much did you have to drink? Do I have to be concerned about alcohol poisoning?”

“No,” Erik mumbled. “I just haven’t had a hangover like this in forever.”

“Well water will help. I can get you some Advil, too.”

“Please,” Erik said feebly.

Charles sighed and nodded. “Be right back.”  

By the time he returned, Erik had managed to sit up and guzzle some of the water down. He was picking at the bagel when Charles came back with two pills, both of which Erik threw back immediately. As he finished off the rest of the glass of water and the bagel, Charles lingered nearby, obviously unwilling to leave him in case he passed out on the floor and asphyxiated on his own vomit or something. That was sweet of him, Erik thought.

“You do this often?” he asked.

Charles, who was sitting on the coffee table again, his knees inches from the couch, raised an eyebrow. “Do what?”  

“Clean up the drunk guys your roommate brings home.”

“No, never. This is the first time.”

Erik found that hard to believe. Caveman Guy had seemed too…casual for this to have been the first one-night stand he’d brought back to the apartment. There had to have been others.

“No one else, I promise,” Charles said. “Just you. Logan just got out of a bad breakup, and I guess he took my advice about getting back into the saddle.”

“Ugh,” Erik said, stuffing a chunk of bagel into his mouth. “So I was the rebound.”

“Pretty much.”

“Okay.”

“What, you liked him?”

“No. Actually I like being the rebound. More fun, less commitment.”

Charles’s mouth twisted wryly. “That’s one way to think of it.”

When Erik finished his glass of water, Charles fetched him another one. Halfway through that, Charles finally asked, “So where’s your shirt?”

“Somewhere on Logan’s floor.” Erik made a disgusted noise. “Have you seen his room?”

Amusement tugged at the corner of Charles’s lips. “I try not to.”  

“Yeah well, it’s still somewhere in there. I think it can just stay there.”

Then he remembered exactly which shirt he’d worn last night and groaned.

“What?”

“It’s one of my favorite shirts.” It was his mother’s favorite actually. She really liked whenever he wore that turtleneck, said it made him look very handsome. And now it was probably buried under some shitty DVDs and a carton of half-finished Chinese.

“Well, if you want, I can have it laundered and returned to you.” Charles glanced down the hall. “Did you give Logan your number or…?”

“No. It was a — one-time thing.”

“Oh.”

After a moment, Erik offered, “I could give  _you_  my number?” He thought it might be weird if he gave Logan his number just to retrieve his shirt. But giving his number to Charles would probably avoid the potential awkwardness.

There was a pause. Erik said quickly, “If you don’t mind, of course,” and Charles shook his head and said, “Of course not. Here.”

He handed his phone over, and Erik entered his name and number. He couldn’t help but notice that Charles’s phone case had a little  _Mutant & Proud_ sticker on it. “You, uh…you’re a member of M&P?”

“Yeah. Well, my sister’s in the local chapter and she takes me to meetings when I’m not busy. She’s quite involved.”

“So am I. What’s her name?”

“She’s — ”

A muffled crash and thud from down the hall cut him off. A moment later, Logan walked out of his room, completely naked and yawning. “Morning, Chuck. Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“I got caught up in taking care of our friend here,” Charles said wryly.

Logan noticed Erik’s presence and stopped, his eyes widening. “Oh. Sorry. Thought you’d left.”

“I was pretty sure you were going to be passed out for the rest of the day. You had so many whiskeys I’m honestly surprised you’re not dead,” Erik said, a bit guardedly. Hopefully Logan wasn’t going to say something like,  _That was amazing, I know we said this was a one-time thing but let’s do that again sometime_. He wasn’t really interested.

But all Logan said was, “My mutation, bub. Pretty handy for mornings after.”

“Lucky you,” Erik muttered.

Logan gave him a long look. “So you, uh…you stayin’?”

Erik shook his head sharply. “I should head out now actually. I’m…late.”

Logan just shrugged and ducked into the bathroom. A moment later, the shower started up.

Charles said to Erik, “How did you get here? Do you need me to call you a cab?”

“I’ll just take the train.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind waiting with you.”

“No, that’s okay. You’ve already been really nice to me.” He got up. “I’ll just…”

They seemed to realize at the same time that it might be weird for Erik to walk outside shirtless, especially in the middle of February. “I can lend you a shirt if you want,” Charles offered. “I’m not sure how it’ll fit, but it’s better than nothing.”

“Please.”

Charles disappeared for a couple of minutes and then returned with a faded gray sweatshirt. “It’s a size too big for me, so it might fit you well.”

Erik slipped it on. It fit perfectly. “Thanks.”

“So I’ll text you when you can pick up your shirt, and you can return that.” Charles nodded at the sweatshirt. “Do you want another cup of water before you go?”

“No, I’m good.”

“Okay.”

Charles walked him to the door and saw him out. On the doorstep, Erik turned around and paused awkwardly. “Thanks. I guess I’ll…see you around.”

Charles smiled. “Yes. Don’t forget to drink more water when you get home.”

“I won’t.” Erik hesitated for a moment, then thought,  _What the hell_. Lowering his voice, he said, “Sorry if this is weird but…you really do have a really nice ass.”

Charles’s cheeks flushed bright red, but he didn’t seem upset. With obvious amusement, he said, “Thanks. Your, er…” His eyes flicked briefly downward, then back up. “You have a nice…everything.”

“You haven’t seen everything.”

“Your jeans don’t leave much to the imagination.”

It was Erik’s turn to flush. Charles laughed softly and said, “I’ll give you a call when you can come by again. And maybe…if you and Logan really are a one-time thing…”

“We are,” Erik said quickly, his pulse picking up.

“Well, if you wanted to bring some takeout over, I wouldn’t be opposed to sharing it.” Charles smiled crookedly. “I’ll have wine.”

“Okay. Yes.” Erik glanced over Charles’s shoulder and said reluctantly, “This won’t make things weird? You know, with your roommate.”

“Not at all. Like I said, Logan’s coming out of a bad breakup. I’m pretty sure he’ll be relieved you won’t be coming around looking for more.”

“Not from him anyway,” Erik said, and Charles laughed.

He promised to call soon, and they said their goodbyes. Erik took the elevator down. His head was spinning by the time he got to the first floor, fuzzy with warm sleepiness and a touch of incredulity. Had he really just secured a date with his one-night stand’s roommate? With his one-night stand’s incredibly attractive, really kind mutant roommate? How the hell had  _that_  happened?

Whatever the answer, he found that he was really looking forward to seeing Charles again, hopefully sooner rather than later. When he emerged out on the street into the busy New York morning, not even the blinding, migraine-inducing sunshine could dampen his good mood.  


	58. erik helps charles with a delicate problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for faramirlover for the first sentence meme: "Have you ever thought about how we're doing this in completely the wrong order?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [on tumblr here](http://ikeracity.tumblr.com/post/144816193069/have-you-ever-thought-about-how-were-doing-this)

“Have you ever thought about how we’re doing this in completely the wrong order?” 

Erik resisted the urge to squeeze his eyes shut. Was this really happening to him right now? How the fuck could Charles  _talk_  at a time like this? 

Undeterred by his silence, Charles said, “Generally people go out on dates and have drinks and get to know each other better before sticking fingers up each other’s asses.” 

“Can you shut up?” Erik demanded, gritting his teeth. He tried not to focus on how hot and tight Charles was around his fingers. He  _really_  tried not to focus on how hard he was in his jeans, and how badly he wanted to undo the zipper to get some relief. 

“Sorry.” 

Charles fell silent. The resulting quiet was somehow even worse, because Erik could  _hear_  his fingers pressing into Charles, and then Charles started making these terrible, breathy noises of pleasure, and Erik could feel his face burning so hotly he was surprised it wasn’t melting right off. 

Finally,  _finally_  his fingers closed firmly around something hard and smooth, and he started to wiggle it out. Charles gave a low moan and clenched around his fingers, and Erik, breathing like a horse that had sprinted the Preakness, croaked, “ _Stop that.”_

Charles stilled. “Sorry.” 

The next minute passed in a blur. Erik pulled and pulled and pulled until finally it came free: a small, egg-shaped white vibrator that was  _still_  buzzing in his hand. He held it for a long moment, chest heaving, unable to tear his gaze away because he knew that if he did that, his eyes would go straight to Charles and his upturned ass. He heard Charles pull at the sheets, and when he looked again, Charles was covered with his comforter, his face flushed bright red. 

“Thanks,” he said, grinning. 

Erik threw the vibrator down beside him. “Next time, call the fucking hospital. I’m your  _roommate_ , not your doctor. That’s the first and last time I pull a goddamn vibrator out of your ass when you get it stuck up there.”

Charles smiled contritely. His sweat-damp hair was plastered across his forehead, and Erik fought the urge to reach down and push it out of his eyes. “I’m sorry.” 

“Just be more careful,” Erik grumbled. 

Then he went to take the coldest fucking shower in history. 


	59. erik asks charles out to prom AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for mx-perditus for the first sentence meme: "He wasn't sure what had woken him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [on tumblr here](http://ikeracity.tumblr.com/post/144860439934/for-the-first-sentence-post-he-wasnt-sure-what)

He wasn’t sure what had woken him. For a long moment, he lay there groggily, wiping sleep from his eyes. When he turned to glance at his alarm clock, the green numbers read 7:24 p.m. Outside his window, the sun had disappeared, leaving a pink-gray dusk.

Then he heard it: the clatter of something against his window. Birds, he thought, but the clatter came again, then again, rhythmically. Rocks, he realized with a jolt. Someone was throwing rocks at his window.

Frowning, he reached out with his telepathy and found a very familiar mind standing outside. A very familiar, very  _unexpected_  mind.  _Erik?_

 _Come to the window,_ came the reply.

Yawning, Charles levered himself up and slid from his bed to his chair. Unlocking the wheels, he went over to the window, pushed the curtains open, and looked down.

Erik stood in the middle of the perfectly manicured lawn below, wearing a black tuxedo slightly too small for him in the shoulders and a crooked bowtie, holding a cluster of balloons in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other. He looked up at Charles and grinned.

Charles pulled the window open and said stupidly, “What are you doing here?”

“It’s my prom tonight,” Erik said. “Come with me?”

Charles stared at him, dazed. “What?”

“I meant to ask you earlier, but I couldn’t work up the nerve. I thought…well, Oxley boys like you probably wouldn’t touch Brinker High boys like me with a ten-foot pole. But then I thought,  _Charles isn’t like the other Oxley boys_. You’re friends with  _me_  after all.” Erik was talking too fast, the way he did when he was nervous. He was seldom ever nervous. “Anyway, Mama said I should grow a spine and come over and see if you were free. I don’t have a date because I wasted all this time trying to figure out the perfect way to ask you, and now it’s kind of late but…” He looked up hopefully. “…maybe you’d like to come?”

Charles had never been to a prom in his life. Oxley Prep didn’t have proms, and even if they did, it’d probably be old and stuffy and horribly boring anyway. Charles had daydreamed once or twice about going to the sort of prom you saw on television, or in movies, but he hadn’t ever thought he’d actually get to  _go_.

And with the boy he’d had a crush on for ages, no less.

“Yes,” he blurted out. “Let me just find my tux.”

Erik broke into a huge grin. “Great. I’ll just—I’ll wait down here.”

Charles flew through his closet, dug out one of the tuxes his mother expected him to wear to all family functions, and hurriedly wrestled it on. He spent a couple of minutes trying to fix his hair in the mirror, but he was too impatient to really do anything with it. Erik was waiting for him downstairs. Erik had asked him to  _prom._

Hardly ten minutes later, he was out the front door. Erik met him there and presented the bouquet to him with a flourish. Charles took it, blushing, and said, “Thank you.”

Erik flushed, too. “You’re welcome. I hope you like them. I don’t really know much about flowers—”

“They’re perfect.”

The color in Erik’s face deepened. “Anyway, I couldn’t rent a limo but…” He gestured to the station wagon in the driveway and said with a hint of embarrassment, “Mama let me borrow it for the night.”

“It’s perfect.”

Erik searched his face. “Really?”

It was thoroughly, fully, perfectly normal. Not something you’d find in the mansion’s garage, and not something you’d ever find at Oxley. It was perfect.

“Really.” After a moment of hesitation, Charles held out his hand. “Let’s go?”

Erik took it with a grin and squeezed his fingers warmly. “Let’s go.”  


	60. vague high school boyfriends AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for turtletotem for the first sentence meme: "Do you think this somehow makes up for you leaving me to die?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [on tumblr here](http://ikeracity.tumblr.com/post/144920483139/do-you-think-this-somehow-makes-up-for-you)

“Do you think this somehow makes up for you leaving me to die?”

Erik stares at him, then back down at the cookie in his hand, then back at him. “Well….no?”

Charles glares. “That’s the right answer.”

“In my defense—”

“Oh  _here_  we go—”

“In my  _defense_ ,” Erik barrels on, “staying with you would’ve been suicide. There was no way I was getting out of there alive if I’d stuck around. What did you expect me to do, carry you out on my back?”

“Yes!” Charles exclaims. “Or, I don’t know,  _die by my side?_ At least then we’d be together!”

Erik’s nose wrinkles. “That’s just stupid. If I was dead, how could I avenge your death?  _Someone_  has to.”

Charles peers at him, frowning. “So you’d really rather go off on some revenge kick than be with me, no matter what?”

There’s a hurt little crease between his eyes that Erik hates. He hates even more that he put it there.

“No,” Erik says, dropping down on the couch next to him. “Nothing’s more important than you. Nothing in the world.”

Charles grins, his delight seeming to light up the whole room. Winding his arms around Erik’s neck, he whispers, “That’s my boyfriend,” and gives him a big, wet kiss. Eyes fluttering closed, Erik kisses him back. After a moment, he starts to ease Charles down onto the couch, hand pressed to the small of Charles’s back to cradle him close. When Erik’s teeth scrape his lip, Charles makes a pleased noise and—

“Erik? I’m home!”

They jerk apart with guilty gasps, faces flushed red with arousal and embarrassment. As Charles stares determinedly at his hands, Erik jumps up and goes to the door, where his mother is carrying in groceries.

She eyes him in amusement, and he paws at his disheveled hair in embarrassment, wishing Charles weren’t so fond of pulling on his hair. “Uh, hi, Mama. Need any help?”

“Charles is over, isn’t he?”

“Um…yes. We were just—” Erik waves his hand vaguely. “Playing Call of Duty.”

“He left me for dead!” Charles calls from the living room.

Mama clicks her tongue. “For shame, Erik Lehnsherr. I didn’t teach you to leave your comrades to die on a battlefield.”  

“You taught me self-preservation,” Erik points out. “And how to make a mean casserole.”

Mama laughs. “Fair point. Go, go back to Charles. You’ll only be in the way in the kitchen.”

“Okay,” Erik agrees, scrambling back to the living room.

Charles has mostly put himself back together, his shirt tugged straight again and his expression composed. Only the light blush on his cheeks betrays him.

“Here,” he says, thrusting one of the PS3 controllers at Erik. “Try not to throw me under the bus this time?”

Erik rolls his eyes. “Sure.”  

 _And,_ Charles adds, in the private space between the two of them,  _maybe we can continue that kiss later? In your car, maybe?_

Erik bites back a groan.  _You’re on._


	61. random college AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the first sentence meme: "God, Charles thought, not again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [on tumblr here](http://ikeracity.tumblr.com/post/144926173299/for-the-fic-game-god-charles-thought-not-again)

God, Charles thought, not again.

Frustrated, he banged on the router for a minute, then unplugged it and let it sit. When he plugged it back in and went to check the signal on his laptop, it still showed no connection. He resisted the urge to beat his head against the wall and went to throw himself dramatically onto the couch instead.  

Erik found him like that twenty minutes later when he came home. “What’s wrong?” he asked as he carried an armful of groceries to the kitchen.

Charles turned his head so that it was no longer buried in the couch cushion. “I hate Time Warner.”

“Ah, is the internet out again?”

“For the third time today!” His voice slid into a whine. “Can’t you fix it?”  

“Just because I’m in engineering doesn’t mean I can just  _fix it_ ,” Erik huffed, but he went and started to fiddle with the router anyway.

“How am I supposed to finish my dissertation if I don’t have internet half the time?” Charles grumbled. “I should write Time Warner a complaint letter. Several complaint letters.”  

“You could always go to a Starbucks,” Erik pointed out. “Or some other café.”

“Yes, but then I’d have to change into real clothes. And I’d have to leave the apartment. And,” he added, giving Erik a significant look, “I couldn’t take breaks to make out with my hot boyfriend.”

“Good point.”

It was another few minutes before Erik plugged the router back in and said, “Let’s see now…” He levitated Charles’s laptop over with a wave of his hand and checked the network connectivity. Charles watched him hopefully, then slumped back into the couch when Erik said, “Nothing. I guess we’ll have to call someone to come take a look tomorrow.”

“I was supposed to finish that chapter today,” Charles moaned. “What am I supposed to do until tomorrow?”

Setting the laptop aside, Erik came over to the couch and tugged at Charles until he turned over onto his back. Then Erik straddled him and leaned down to bracket Charles’s head with his arms. “I can think of a few things,” he said with a smirk. “Care to read my mind to find out?”

Grinning, Charles reached down and grabbed his ass. “Oh darling, that won’t be necessary.”


	62. babysitter AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the first sentence meme: "They didn't have pumpkins, so they carved a watermelon instead."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [on tumblr here](http://ikeracity.tumblr.com/post/144929321394/they-didnt-have-pumpkins-so-they-carved-a)

They didn’t have pumpkins, so they carved a watermelon instead. Charles thought it achieved moderately the same effect, but Pietro stared at it in disappointment and said, “It’s not  _right_.”

Charles sighed. “All right. Why don’t you go look at your costume again, and I’ll ask your father to pick up a pumpkin on the way home?”

Pietro brightened. “Really?”

“Really.”

Noticeably cheered, he flounced over to where his Spiderman costume lay spread out on the couch. Wanda was sprawled on the floor in front of the TV, coloring the Star Wars coloring book Charles had gotten her earlier that week. He was surprised she still had any pages left to color; she couldn’t have been pried away from it with a crowbar for at least three days. He really ought to invest in more coloring books, he thought as he dialed Erik’s number.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me.” Charles sandwiched the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he opened the fridge and started fixing up an afternoon snack for the kids. “When will you be home from work?”

“Probably around six. Why?”

“The kids wanted to carve a pumpkin, but the only thing you had was a watermelon. We tried that, but it didn’t work too well, so Pietro would like you to pick up a pumpkin on your way home.”

“Pietro would like that, would he?” Erik sounded amused. “And who’s going to help him carve it? I don’t know the first thing about carving pumpkins.”

“Well, I can stay late tonight and help out, if you want.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have any work to do?”

Charles washed a handful of grapes and separated them into two bowls. “Not tonight. I finished up the conclusion of my thesis yesterday, and the deadline isn’t until next week. I just have to edit it a little.”

“Okay then. If that’s all right with you.”

“It’s fine. I’ll see you later.”

Setting his phone on the kitchen counter, he took the twins their grapes and sat with them as they went over their costumes. Pietro insisted on trying his on again because he adored it, and Wanda complained that the straps of her Darth Vader mask were too tight and dug into her face. Charles spent a few minutes trying to figure out how to loosen them while Pietro raced around the room dizzyingly. It was useless to try to catch him, so Charles just said, “Whoever sits down first gets to pick what game we play next,” and Pietro slammed into the ground so hard Charles was surprised he didn’t leave a dent.

They played Mancala until Erik came home. The instant keys jangled in the lock, Pietro and Wanda shot to their feet and bolted for the entrance hallway. A moment later, Charles heard the front door open, and Pietro gasped with delight, “A  _pumpkin!”_

“Yes,” Erik said, coming into view. He was in his thick raincoat today because it had been drizzling that morning, and Charles allowed himself one small moment to admire how well it fit his broad shoulders. Then Erik looked over at him and raised his eyebrows. “So how did these two terrors treat you today?”

“They were angels,” Charles said, getting up. “Well, almost.”

“That sounds about right.” Erik tugged his scarf off with one hand and held up the pumpkin with the other. “No pumpkin until after dinner, all right?”

“But I want Charles to help me carve it!” Pietro protested.

“Charles will be staying over,” Erik said, which earned him claps and yells of delight. Raising his voice, he added, “Go wash your hands!”

As they scrambled to obey, Charles came over to take the pumpkin from him so he could peel off his coat. “How was your day?”

“Long,” Erik grumbled. “Boring. It was a lot of reading and not a lot of excitement.”

“The perils of being a detective,” Charles said, grinning. “Come see the watermelon we carved. Pietro wanted us to make a likeness of your face.”

They went to the kitchen, where the watermelon sat proudly displayed on the counter. “A likeness of my face,” Erik said, eyebrows rising as he took it in. “Should I be insulted?”

Charles laughed. “Only by my artistic skills. I assure you, Pietro’s vision was much more flattering.”

“That’s reassuring.” Erik tugged at his tie. “Thanks. For staying over, I mean.”

Charles shook his head. “It’s no problem.”

“No, really. Lately…” Erik sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I know my schedule’s been hectic lately, and you’ve gone above and beyond for me and the twins.”

Charles smiled. “Really, it’s not a problem. I like you and the twins. Besides, I’m at a lull in my semester right now, so working a little overtime isn’t a big deal.”

Erik smiled back. “You really are the best babysitter we’ve had, you know. The twins love you. I don’t know what we’re going to do when you graduate.”

“I won’t be leaving,” Charles said. “Not necessarily. I might stay in the area if I get an opportunity.”

He didn’t think he was imagining the leap of hope in Erik’s expression. “Really? Do you think you will?”  

“I might. I’ve been putting out feelers. I don’t want to leave the kids either, you know.” Charles hesitated for a long moment before adding quietly, “Or you.”

Erik went still. Charles watched his face very carefully out of the corner of his eye. They’d flirted lightly before but always with a grin or a small laugh to show that they weren’t serious. But Charles didn’t smile now, and Erik gave him a long, careful look, as if he were waiting for Charles to retract that statement.

“Maybe we should talk,” Erik said finally, brows drawn.

Well that wasn’t the overwhelmingly positive reaction Charles had hoped for. Heart sinking, he said, “I guess we should.”

But the twins rushed in before they could say any more, and they got caught up in making dinner and setting the table. After dinner, Charles helped Pietro carve the pumpkin while Erik helped Wanda adjust the fit on her costume. It wasn’t until after Erik had put the twins to bed that they finally had some time alone again.

As Charles cleaned up the mess from the pumpkin, Erik came to stand in the kitchen and watched him, arms crossed. Unable to bear the silence, Charles said quietly, “If you want to fire me, you can.”

Erik blinked in surprise. “Why would I want to fire you?”  

“Well if you—if you don’t feel the same, it might be awkward for you, knowing that I…” Charles couldn’t say the words. Instead, he said, “And anyway, even if you  _did_ feel the same—”

“I do.”

That stopped Charles dead. Hardly daring to believe his ears, he stared up at Erik, eyes wide. “What?”

“I do feel the same,” Erik said, taking a step closer. Charles wondered if his heart was thrumming as rapidly as Charles’s was. “I haven’t said anything because I didn’t want to…to take advantage of you or something. I mean, I  _am_  your employer.”

Charles huffed a weak laugh. “That hadn’t escaped my notice.”

Slowly, Erik reached out and took his hand. “But if you feel the same way…”  

Charles squeezed his hand tightly, struggling to hold back his mounting excitement. “Yes.”

Erik’s bright eyes fixed on Charles’s mouth. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for  _weeks_ now,” he said lowly. “Can I?”

Charles laughed breathlessly. “ _Yes_.”  


	63. supernatural detectives AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for madneto for the first sentence meme: "Well, at least at this point things can't get any worse.... Right?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [on tumblr here](http://ikeracity.tumblr.com/post/144959920309/well-at-least-at-this-point-things-cant-get-any)

“Well, at least at this point things can’t get any worse…Right?”

“Don’t say that, rookie,” Erik barked.

Alex bristled. “Why not?”

“Because you’ll make things worse,” Erik said snippily, like it was obvious.

No wonder no one wanted to work with him, Alex thought, scowling. Asshole acted like he was the fucking alpha wolf. What a tool.

Instead of stewing in his annoyance, he got up and started to pace the length of the room. Just being in it, without even touching the silver-laced walls, he felt like coming out of his skin. This was bad. This was a fucking disaster. They were trapped by a fucking maniac who’d been tearing through Manhattan skinning wolves for their pelts. The very thought of it made Alex want to throw up.

“Stop that,” Erik said. He was standing in front of the barred door, scrutinizing it without touching it.

“Stop what?”

“Having a meltdown. I can hear it happening.”

“I’m fine,” Alex said coldly. Just because he was new to the SCU didn’t mean he didn’t know how to handle himself. “Someone will find us, right? When we don’t come back to the station, someone will notice, right?”

“Probably not.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

“Well, kid, it’s not my job to reassure you.” Erik put a hand on the door and jerked back, hissing, when the silver burned him. “We’re not getting through that. Our best bet is probably to wait for the bastard to open this door and then try to overpower him.”

The idea of being trapped in this cage for another second made Alex’s stomach roil. “We don’t know when the hell he’s coming back. That could take forever! What if he’s waiting to starve us out so we’re too weak to fight? What if he’s—”

There was a sound on the other side of the door. Both of them froze. Then Erik motioned silently for Alex to take up position on the other side of the door while Erik flattened himself into the corner of the room, careful not to touch the walls. Pulse thundering against his throat, Alex pressed as close to the door as he dared, trembling with adrenaline.

A lock clicked open. A moment later, the heavy bolt holding the door in place drew back, and Alex held his breath as fluorescent light from the hallway began to stream in through the widening crack of the door. Then a figure stepped cautiously in, and Alex leaped.

His fangs were inches from the man’s throat when Erik hissed, “Wait!” and shoved him bodily back. Confused and angry, Alex bounced back to his feet with a furious, “What the hell—”

Then he caught sight of the newcomer’s face.

“Hello, boys,” Charles said, smiling sunnily. “Looks like you’re having quite the day so far.”

“Took you long enough,” Erik growled. “Let’s get out of here. If Stirling had us in here, he’s got to be close.”

“How did you find us?” Alex demanded. The moment they left the silver room, the air seemed to open up around him, making it so much easier to breathe. Gulping in a huge breath, he added, “Where’s Darwin?”

“Your partner was smart. Handily avoided the trap set for him.  _My_  partner on the other hand…” Charles gave Erik a raised eyebrow.

“Shut up,” Erik grumbled. “It was the rookie’s fault.”

“Hey!”

“I’m sure it was,” Charles said wryly as they pushed into a small kitchen area. What the hell was this place? Alex wondered. “Anyway—”

The gunshot was deafening. Alex wheeled around wildly, the wolf in him snarling in fear and alarm. Across the kitchen, half-hidden by the counter, Ed Stirling stood with a pistol pointed straight at Erik. At Erik’s heart.

But Charles had leaped in front of him.

“Ow,” Charles said. “Fuck.”

Erik grabbed his shoulders to steady him. “You idiot, why did you—” He made a frustrated noise and started to reach for the bullet buried in Charles’s chest, then recoiled with a yelp of pain.

“Silver bullet,” Charles said through gritted teeth. “Erik, be careful.”

Erik swore. Stirling fired off another shot, and this time, all three of them dove for cover, Alex behind a small armchair, Erik and Charles behind an overturned coffee table. Hissing out a shaky breath, Charles painstakingly dug the bullet from his chest, blood coating his fingers. Alex pretended he didn’t see the way Erik was gripping Charles’s hand, white-knuckled, or hear Charles’s whispered, “I’ll be okay, darling, you know I will.”

“So,” Alex said, wincing as a bullet slammed into the back of the armchair, “I hate to ruin the moment, but do we actually have a plan here?”

Charles sat up straighter with a grimace. “Yeah. The plan is, you two stay here while I go take care of Stirling.”

“You’re injured,” Erik said, frowning.

“I’ll be fine. But you two  _won’t_  be if one of those silver bullets catches you.” Charles pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket and tossed it to Alex. “Call for backup. Erik, will you give me a distraction? Nothing risky, understand?”

“Do you need…” Erik rolled up one sleeve, offering his wrist.

Charles smiled and patted his arm. “Thank you, darling, but frankly, wolf blood is disgusting.”

Erik huffed. “Just thought I’d offer anyway. Ready?”

“Ready.”

Wiping a smear of blood off the phone screen, Alex hit the number for the captain and prayed.

*

Two hours later, they were back at the station. Alex had gone with Darwin to secure Stirling in his holding cell and the rest of the unit was cleaning up the scene, so that left Erik and Charles alone in the bullpen. Charles was leaning back in his desk chair, holding a wadded up towel to his chest. The wound had nearly closed, but he still didn’t want to drip any blood on the floor. That was just unhygienic.

“Here.”

He cracked open an eye to find Erik offering him a Red Booster. “I thought the vending machine was out,” he said, taking it gratefully. When he unscrewed the lid, the scent of slightly stale, processed blood wafted up. At least it was cold. At this point, exhausted as he was, Charles would take anything.

“It was. I ran down to Major Crimes and looted their vending machine.”

“You’re a darling,” Charles said, trying not to slurp the bottle down too quickly.

“You  _did_  take a bullet for me,” Erik pointed out.

Charles smiled tiredly. “And you’d best not forget it. That brings our count to…12 for me, 9 for you?”

Erik scoffed. “I’ve saved your life way more times than that.”

“No you haven’t. I’ve been keeping track. That Denali case—”

“Counts  _once_ ,” Erik said, rolling his eyes. “How many times do we have to argue over that?”

“Well clearly we aren’t in agreement. First of all, there were at least three separate incidents in that case. Second of all—”

Erik shut him up with a kiss. Startled, Charles nearly dropped the Red Booster, but he managed to keep a hold of it as he wound his other hand around the back of Erik’s neck and drew him closer, savoring his closeness and warmth. It really had been frighteningly close today. If he hadn’t found Stirling’s hideout in time…

Erik drew back with a disgusted shake of his head. “I hate tasting blood in your mouth.”

“ _You_ kissed  _me,”_  Charles pointed out. “Besides, what happened to ‘no PDA at work?’ Or was that just for the captain’s benefit?”

Erik wrinkled his nose. “Well, if you don’t  _want_  me to kiss you at work—”

“No,” Charles broke in hurriedly. “Kisses are good.”

A door down the hall jerked open, and Captain Frost stuck her head out. “You two are making me sick. If you’re not going to get any work done, go home and be lovey-dovey there.”

Charles grinned. “You don’t have to tell us twice, Captain.”

Erik helped him to his feet, and slowly, they made their way out of the bullpen. As they headed out of the precinct to the car, Charles said, “I expect to be rewarded handsomely for my heroics today.”

Erik smirked. “I’m sure something can be arranged.”

“Excellent. And also—” Charles paused and looked at Erik over the hood of the car. “I love you.”

He’d never get tired of the way Erik’s whole face softened at those words. “I love you, too,” he said. “Now get in the car. It’s way too cold to be standing around outside being sappy.”

Charles laughed. “Yes, sir.”


	64. post-xma ficlet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles and Erik post-xma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [on tumblr here](http://ikeracity.tumblr.com/post/145072928114/small-post-xma-ficlet-more-they-sat-side-by)

They sat side by side on the half-finished veranda, looking out over the green lawn below. It was a quiet morning, early enough that nearly all the children were still sleeping in the one finished wing of the house. Charles had come out first, sleepless and restless. Erik had found him there half an hour later, sitting in the gray light of pre-dawn.

It was Charles who broke the silence. “It surprises me sometimes, you know. How much this place has changed since the first time we all came here.” His gaze ran out into the distance. “Would you even recognize it?”

Erik looked. The veranda’s railing was only partly finished, and it was gray stone, not the white Erik remembered. Out over the lawn, there were the dark remains of a basketball court and a pool, neither of which had been there when Erik had. Only the distant trees seemed familiar. Erik knew that if he walked half a mile into them due east, there would be a small pond with a sturdy dock where Charles had spent countless days of his childhood watching fish. They had sat on it together once, pressed thigh to thigh because the dock was so narrow. He remembered dipping his feet in the cool water and skipping stones until daylight dwindled.

He said, “The satellite is still there.”

Charles smiled. “Yes, it is. Do you remember…”

His eyes went far away, and for just a moment, Erik glimpsed a flash of memory: Sean Cassidy’s bright red hair flaring against the gray of his flight suit, his scream of terror as he’d plummeted, followed by a whoop of delight when the wind caught his wings, and that smug, carefree look on Erik’s face that made Charles’s chest tight with gladness—

“Yes,” Erik said, startled by how viscerally his own memory came back to him. “I remember.”

They were silent for a long while. Then Charles said quietly, “After the house is done, will you stay a while? At least for Alex’s funeral. We’ll be having that as soon as possible.”

Erik released a long breath. It had been over twenty years and he had spent several of them fighting the boy, but Alex Summers had been his friend once. His…family. Erik felt his loss with surprising keenness. There had been eight of them back in 1962, and now there were three. So many years, so many lives lost.

“It never gets any easier, does it?” Charles said. His voice was thick with suppressed emotion.

“No,” Erik said. “It never gets easier.”

Charles exhaled shakily. “Nor should it.”

Nor should it, Erik thought. “I’ll stay. At least until after the funeral.”

“Good.” Charles sounded relieved. “I…” He opened his mouth, then shut it again. Then he said, “I hope you know that you’re welcome to stay here, Erik. In the long term, I mean.”

Erik looked out over the slowly lightening sky. Soon the sun would break out over the horizon and cast a golden glow over the whole lawn, chasing the shadows away. Soon the children would be rousing from their beds, and the world would come awake with noise and movement. It was a new day.

“I know,” he said.

Quietly, they watched the sun come up.


	65. fantasy AU where erik is hurt and charles takes care of him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for nerdyglassesposts for the following prompt: "Could you write something where Erik is badly injured and Charles takes care of him?"

Charles found him several miles into the woods, bloody and cold and frighteningly still. He nearly fell off his horse in his haste to dismount and dropped to his knees in the mud beside Erik, hands trembling as they hovered over him. There was so much blood Charles couldn’t see where it was coming from. But he could feel the pulse of Erik’s mind, terribly weak but still there. He was alive.

“Erik,” he said, hands cupped to Erik’s face. “Erik, please, hang on.” He turned and shouted, “Logan! I’ve found him! Hurry!”

The captain of his guard arrived only moments later, jerking his horse to a stop and leaping from the saddle. “You shouldn’t have ridden ahead. What if Shaw—”

Charles barely heard him. “He’s hurt. He needs a physician now. Can we get him up onto my horse? Should we move him or—or should we—” His thoughts felt scrambled, like ants fleeing from a stomped-on anthill. He struggled to pull them together. “He needs help.”

Logan knelt and gently pulled at Erik’s coat. There was more blood underneath, blooming red stains across Erik’s gray shirt. When Logan tried to push the shirt up, it stuck with dried blood.

“He doesn’t look good,” Logan said quietly.

“Ride for Hank McCoy,” Charles said. “Bring him here.”

“Your Highness—”

“ _Go_.”

Logan went. Dizzy with fear, Charles tried to find the worst of Erik’s wounds. After an interminable minute, he found a knife wound in Erik’s stomach, bleeding sluggishly. It was ugly and deep, cut from belly button nearly halfway up Erik’s ribs. Someone had tried to gut him. It was so cruel a slash that Charles nearly wept. They had wanted Erik to die slowly and painfully.  _Shaw_ had wanted that.

He tore off his cloak and pressed it to the wound.  _Please,_ he whispered, pressing the word against Erik’s unresponsive mind.  _Stay with me._

The world around him blurred. All he could see was the blood soaking through the cloak and seeping up between his fingers, hot and thick. It didn’t sound like Erik was breathing. The only thing he could hear was his heart, thundering deafeningly in his ears. He didn’t dare release pressure on the wound for even an instant, even to check if Erik had a pulse. He was afraid he wouldn’t find one.  

Then Logan was there again. Hank McCoy, physician-in-training, slid off the saddle behind him and landed unsteadily in the mud. He would have toppled if Logan hadn’t grabbed his arm to steady him. Pushing his spectacles nervously up his nose, he glanced around, then spotted Charles kneeling by Erik’s body. When he saw the blood on Charles’s hands, something in him seemed to go rigid, and he strode over, already opening up the black medical bag in his hands.

“What do we have?” he asked.

“A—a knife wound,” Charles said, filled with terror now. Hank would know if this was fatal. “There might be other wounds, but I couldn’t find any. I was only—” He stared down at his hands, pressed white-knuckled against Erik’s stomach, fighting to hold his blood in. “I didn’t know what to do. I could only—I just—”

“You did well,” Hank said gently. “Now I need you to move aside so I can work.”

Charles couldn’t make himself move, couldn’t release his grip on Erik. Distantly, he heard Hank say, “Captain, please,” and then Logan was pulling him away.

“Will he live?” he heard himself ask, sagging into Logan. “Please—will he live?”

Hank gave him an inscrutable look and said only, “I’ll try my hardest.”

*

Erik woke slowly, in fits and starts. The first time he opened his eyes, Charles was there, clutching his hand. “Thank the gods,” he kept whispering, his eyes wet. “Erik, can you hear me? Erik?”

But it was too much effort to keep his eyes open, and he slipped away again. It was a deep, dreamless sleep. The next time he surfaced, Charles’s friend was there—Hank McCoy, the physician’s assistant.

“Hello,” Hank said gently. “It’s good to see you awake, Erik.”

“Ch…”

“Charles? The prince is fine. He’s resting. He’s hardly left your side since we found you.”

Erik shut his eyes in profound relief. When Shaw had driven that knife into Erik’s belly, when he had ordered Erik taken into the woods, Erik had been so afraid of what might happen to Charles. Because Charles would find out—of course he would, and if he tried to retaliate, Shaw might have killed him. Charles was the prince, but Shaw was the regent and everyone knew who really held the reins of power.

“Where are we?” he rasped. This room wasn’t his own, and it wasn’t Charles’s either.

“One of the prince’s hunting lodges,” Hank replied. “He thought it was too dangerous to try to take you back to the palace where the regent might see you.”

“He was right.” Erik glanced down at the thick furs heaped on him, keeping him warm and hiding his bandages. “How bad?”

“Quite serious. If the prince had found you any later, you probably would have bled out. The knife wound you took to the stomach would have killed you if you hadn’t been seen to. You had several other lacerations as well, though most of those were shallow. I stitched those up without a problem.”

“I’ll live?”

“With rest and care.”

Erik exhaled shakily. When Shaw’s men had left him in the mud, he had been sure…

“Charles? Where is he?”

Hank patted his shoulder. “I’ll go get him.”

Not even a minute later, Charles appeared in the doorway, his eyes wide. When their eyes met, Charles shut the door behind him and rushed forward, his movements clumsy with relief as he reached for Erik’s hand. “Welcome back,” he whispered, his voice thick. “How are you feeling?”

“Surprisingly good,” Erik replied. He traced his eyes over Charles’s face, noting the worry lines in his forehead, the dark circles under his eyes. “You look terrible.”

Charles laughed shakily. “I  _feel_  terrible. I’ve been out of my mind with worry over you for the last three days.” He squeezed Erik’s hand tightly. “I’m so glad you’ve woken up. I was so afraid…When I found you in the woods, I was so afraid you were going to die in my arms.”

It took more effort than it should have to squeeze his hand back, but Erik managed it. “I’ll be fine. Hank said so.”

“I know. But I just can’t stop thinking about what would’ve happened if I’d been too late. And if Shaw finds out you’re still alive…” Charles pressed his lips together. “He can’t find out about you. If he does, he’ll stop at nothing to finish what he started.”

“You know it wasn’t me he was trying to hurt,” Erik said. “He was only trying to get to you.”

Anger flashed across Charles’s face. “And he did.”

The hard look in his eyes made Erik grip his hand more tightly. “You can’t be thinking of fighting him, Charles. He has everything—the army, the loyalty of the high lords, the priests.”

“I don’t care. He should have known better than to touch you. And besides—” Charles smiled grimly. “—that throne is mine. I think it’s time the regent remembered that.”

That was the smile of a prince who had spent all his life studying political warfare and knew exactly how to conduct it. If there was anyone who could face Shaw and win, Erik thought, it was Charles.

“You’d go to war over me,” Erik said, more to himself than anything else.

“Oh, dearest.” Charles brought Erik’s hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to his open palm. “There isn’t a thing in the world I wouldn’t do for you.”


	66. hospital AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles meets a new doctor at the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [on tumblr here](http://ikeracity.tumblr.com/post/150364839929/a-hospital-au-has-been-plaguing-me-for-days-now)

The man was tall. Lean. He carried himself with all the confidence of a man who was used to getting his way. He was sharply dressed in a black dress shirt and gray slacks, his white coat draped neatly over one arm. He was, Charles noted, terribly attractive.

He was also quite lost. This was the third time he had circled around through the hospital front lobby, and with every pass, his expression grew increasingly annoyed. The third time through, he stopped by the revolving doors, pulled out his phone, and started to jab at the screen in frustration.

Swallowing down the last of his lukewarm coffee, Charles got up. He ran his hand through his hair a couple of times, trying to tame the worst of his windswept locks. Then he strode across the lobby.

The man looked up at him as he approached, pale eyes taking in Charles’s white coat, his black scrubs, the badge clipped to his breast pocket.

“Hello,” Charles said, smiling. “I couldn’t help but notice that you seemed a little lost.”

“I’m not lost,” the man grumbled. When Charles raised an eyebrow, he admitted grudgingly, “Maybe a little.”  

Charles grinned. “What are you looking for?”

“HR. I was told it was on the second floor, but I’ve been all over the damn hospital and it’s nowhere to be found.”

“That’s because you’re in the wrong building, my friend,” Charles said wryly. “There must have been some miscommunication somewhere — HR is in the office building across the street.”

The man stared at him for a moment, then clenched his jaw in irritation. “So much for the instructions they gave me. I should’ve expected hospital HR to be fucking useless.”

“That’s a universal constant,” Charles said, laughing. Glancing at the stranger’s white coat, he added, “You’re new here?”

The man nodded impatiently. “Yeah. Erik Lehnsherr, emergency medicine.”

“Charles Xavier, critical care.”

They shook hands. Erik’s palm was broad and warm and firm, and Charles thought with a distinct feeling of resignation,  _Oh no_.

“So across the street, you said?” Erik asked.

Charles pulled his hand back casually. “Yes. See that red building over there? You’ll find HR on the second floor. Suite 245, if I remember correctly.”

“Thanks.” Erik paused for a moment, clearly searching for a proper goodbye. Finally he just gave Charles a little nod before turning and pushing through the revolving door.

Charles pulled his phone out of his coat pocket and opened up a message to Raven.  _There’s a hot new er doc and I’m fucked._

Only moments later, Raven sent back a crying-laughing emoji and a thumbs up, followed by:  _u are such a slut._

 _I’m well aware_ , Charles replied, sighing.  

He could practically see Raven’s grin.  _i’m giving u 1 week before u end up sleeping w him._

One week? Charles laughed and sent back,  _Please. I’m not that bad._

* * *

 _Okay,_ he admitted to himself four days later, as Erik sucked down his cock with mind-blowing skill,  _maybe I am._


	67. hospital AU part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for lisas999. Dr. Xavier and Dr. Lehnsherr go steady.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [on tumblr here](http://ikeracity.tumblr.com/post/156982842404/hello-if-youre-still-taking-prompts-can-we-have)

Charles woke up on the morning after to find a sticky note on the pillow where Erik’s head had been last night.

_Sorry, have to run — 8 a.m. shift. Call me? 212-555-9098._

He blinked blearily at the note for a minute, yawned, and then turned to look at the time. 8:36. It was hours after he would normally wake up, but he wasn’t working today so he could savor the lazy morning. After dozing on and off for another twenty minutes, he finally got up to relieve himself and then came back to pick up Erik’s note.

Why hadn’t Erik woken him up before leaving?

Disconnecting his phone from the charger, he carried both it and the note out to the kitchen, where he poured himself a glass of orange juice before entering in Erik’s number. After mulling it over for a few moments, he sent a text:  _good morning._

He didn’t expect an instantaneous reply — Erik had to be busy, after all — but after only a couple of minutes, his phone chimed.  _Charles?_

Oh right. He hadn’t given Erik his number in return.  _yes,_ he typed back.  _it’s Charles._

After a moment, a string of emojis appeared: a smiling face, a thumbs up, and a smiling sun. Charles barked out a startled laugh. He hadn’t pegged Erik as a man who used emojis.

Sipping his orange juice, he contemplated his reply. He wasn’t…hurt, really, that Erik had left without a word, but he’d have liked the basic courtesy. After a couple of minutes of consideration, he wrote,  _you left without saying goodbye_ , and, to make it seem less like an accusation, added a sad face.

A moment later, his phone started to ring. Heart jumping, Charles picked up. “Hello?”

“Hi,” came Erik’s low, lovely voice. “I tried to wake you up this morning but you told me fuck off.”

Charles laughed. He didn’t remember that, but it sounded like something he’d do. “I’m sorry. I’m not a morning person.”

“Evidently not. Am I forgiven?”

“Am  _I?”_

Erik snorted. “Yes. I won’t hold it against you.”

“You’re a darling,” Charles told him, grinning. He took another sip of his orange juice and glanced out the living room window. It was sunny outside, which was a bit of a surprise since it had been cloudy and dreadful all week long. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?”

“It’s not that busy.”

“That’s nice.” After a moment of thought, Charles added, “What time do you get off for lunch?”

“Around one.”

“Would it be all right if I met you for lunch? Doctor’s lounge?”

He could practically hear Erik’s frown. “You’re not working today.”

“No, but I’d like to come have lunch with you anyway, if that’s all right.” He didn’t have any plans for the day anyway, and the contents of his fridge were rather discouraging.

“Okay,” Erik agreed. “One o’clock?”

“I’ll see you then.”

Charles spent the rest of the morning doing the things he was usually too busy to do when he worked: take a run, read the news, catch up on Raven’s social media posts, read a couple of journal articles he’d been saving for a while, and watch an episode of Brooklyn 99. At 12:20, he checked the temperature outside, shrugged on a light jacket, and headed down to the subway.

The doctor’s lounge was bustling when Charles arrived. One o’clock was a popular time for lunch, which meant several medical teams were crammed into the lounge at once, jostling for table space. Erik had claimed a small square table underneath the big-screen TV and was digging into a huge salad when Charles arrived.

“You’ve worked up an appetite, I see,” Charles remarked as he shucked off his coat and hung it over the back of the chair across from Erik.

“The morning picked up after I called you,” Erik replied. “If you want any of the salmon, you’d better hurry up. It’s going fast.”

Charles flushed, enormously pleased that Erik remembered that he liked salmon. Heading over to the self-service food stations, he glanced over the day’s pickings, grabbed a plate and silverware, and helped himself to the salmon, green beans, and a fresh salad. After pouring a glass of iced tea, he headed back over to Erik.

“So,” he said, taking his seat, “how are you adjusting to the hospital? Still getting lost?”

“I haven’t gotten lost since that first day,” Erik grumbled. “And that was only because I was given poor instructions. I have an impeccable sense of direction, I’ll have you know.”

Neatly slicing into the soft salmon with the side of his fork, Charles grinned. “I’m sure.”

Erik rolled his eyes. “I’ve been here for almost a month anyway. I’d have to be an idiot not to know my way around by now.”

“Hey! It took me six weeks to figure out all the twists and turns of this place.”

“Well, I never said you weren’t an idiot.”

Charles kicked him under the table. Erik laughed and said, “I’m kidding. You know I am.”

“I know,” Charles said, unable to keep the affection out of his voice. It was almost alarming how quickly he’d grown fond of Erik. There was just something incredibly easy about being with Erik, like he and Erik fit each other in ways people seldom did.

Erik studied his expression closely. “What are you thinking?”

Charles didn’t really want to get into it at the moment — they weren’t even really  _dating_ , so bringing up his feelings for Erik seemed a little premature — so he just said, “I was thinking the salmon needs a bit of pepper.”

Erik waved a hand and the pepper dispenser slid its way across the table. That was another thing Charles truly appreciated about him: the way he used his powers so casually, without caring what others thought. Being a mutant in the medical profession wasn’t the easiest of choices, but Erik made it seem effortless. Or at least, he glared enough people into submission that no one gave him any shit for it.

“You’re not thinking about pepper,” Erik observed.

“No,” Charles agreed as he picked up the pepper dispenser and liberally sprinkled his salmon with it. “I was just thinking about how much I like you.”

Erik looked surprised, then flattered, then a bit smug. “Well — good.” He stabbed his fork at the hardboiled egg on his plate. “For the record, I like you a lot, too.”  

Charles smiled, warmth tingling down his spine. After a few more bites of salmon, he took a breath, gathered himself, and asked, “Erik, where is this going?”

His question seemed catch Erik by surprise. For a long moment, Erik simply stared at him, like he was trying to process Charles’s meaning. Charles resisted the powerful urge to take a peek in Erik’s head to see which way his thoughts were running. Instead, he took a very long swallow of iced tea.

“I…don’t know,” Erik said finally.

Charles pushed forward. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m very much enjoying what we have. I don’t mind the casual nature of our relationship. But after last night, things seem to be getting a little more serious.”

Over the last month, they’d traded a fair share of blowjobs and handjobs, but last night was the first time they’d actually had penetrative sex. Plus, Erik had stayed the night, and he might have stayed the morning, too, if he hadn’t had work. It was fair, Charles thought, to take a moment to clarify their expectations.

“Do you…want serious?” Erik asked after a long pause. He searched Charles’s face, his brows drawn together in a slight frown.

Charles hesitated. “I don’t want to pressure you into anything,” he answered slowly. “If you want to keep it casual, then I want to keep it casual. But if you want this to be something serious…” He gave Erik a hopeful little smile.

Erik’s mind flared with such excitement and heat that Charles actually had to sit back slightly, startled by the vehemence of his emotions. “I take it that’s a yes?” he asked, a bit breathless.

“You felt that?” When Charles nodded, Erik gave him a full, toothy grin. “That’s a yes.”

Somehow, even though he’d asked the question, Charles hadn’t quite expected this answer. For a moment, all he could do was look at Erik and smile stupidly, so full of delight and affection he could hardly speak. It wasn’t until Erik stretched his leg out to run his foot against Charles’s ankle that Charles unfroze.

“Well then,” he said, still breathless. He wanted suddenly to grab Erik by the collar of his white coat and kiss him senseless, and he could tell by the hungry look in Erik’s eye that he wanted the same. “Your shift ends at eight, right?”

Erik grimaced. “Yeah.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah.”

Charles glanced at the clock on the wall behind Erik’s head. It was only 1:18. “What time are you going back to work?”

“I was planning to do afternoon rounds at two.” Erik’s eyes gleamed with sudden anticipation. “Why?”

“Would you be opposed to relocating?”  _I know for a fact that the intensivist on-call room will be empty right now_ , Charles added, grinning wickedly.  _There’s a bed and, more importantly, privacy_.

Erik glanced down at his half-finished plate, then pushed his chair back with a grin of his own. “Lead the way.”


	68. king erik has a crush on professor charles AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for theapolis who requested emotionally constipated Erik who's in love with Charles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [on tumblr here](http://ikeracity.tumblr.com/post/156477224129/for-thea-polis-who-requested-emotionally)

Erik spent his lunch break staring out the window of his office, thinking about nothing in particular. It was raining out, as it had been for the last three days, and even though Emma called it depressing and wardrobe-ruining, Erik thought it was rather nice. He liked rain. It was soothing and comforting, and the occasional crack of lightning made his skin tingle pleasantly. Besides, storms always put Ororo Munroe in a good mood, and whenever his Defense Minister was in a good mood, that boded well for everybody.

That was what was on his mind at the moment, but when Kitty stuck her head in, she smirked and said, “You’re thinking about him again, aren’t you?”

Erik turned away from the window to stare at her. “What?”

“You’re thinking about Professor Xavier,” she clarified.

Erik’s heart gave a funny lurch. It kept doing that lately, and he kept meaning to see his doctor and forgetting. “Why the hell would I be thinking about Xavier?” he demanded, shaking the mouse of his computer to wake it up. “I’m busy.”

“Busy thinking about Xavier?” Kitty suggested. At Erik’s glare, she threw up both hands defensively and said, “Hey, I’m just saying, you only get that look on your face when you’re thinking about him.”

“That’s clearly not the case, since I wasn’t thinking about him,” Erik told her testily. Then, out of curiosity, he added, “What look on my face?”

Kitty smirked again. “I just came in to remind you that the Prime Minister of Canada is going to be on the phone at one o’clock, and you need to keep it short because you’re meeting with Donahue at two.”

Erik scowled. “I fucking hate Donahue.”

“I know. Try not to let  _him_  know.”

“Why are all American ambassadors such assholes?”

“Don’t ask me.”

Erik raised his eyebrows at her. “You’re an American.”

“No, I’m  _Genoshan_.” Kitty flicked him an arch look. “Isn’t that the point?”

Yes, that was the point. Erik sighed and wondered for the millionth time why he’d hired such a mouthy assistant. “Will you schedule a doctor’s appointment for me whenever I have a spare hour? Next week maybe?”

Kitty eyed him speculatively. “Are you sick?”

“I just want a check-up.”

She continued to eye him for another moment before shrugging. “Okay. I think you have a couple of hours on Tuesday after you meet with the UN delegation. I’ll give your doctor a call.”

“Thanks.”

She disappeared back out the door. Nearly at the same instant, Erik’s phone chimed. Picking it up, he found an email from the Google alert he’d set: new content about  _Charles Xavier_.  

His heart lurched again, and he rubbed at it absently as he thumbed open the email. It was an article from The New York Times, an editorial written by none other than the brilliant Dr. Xavier, former professor of genetics at Columbia University, current headmaster at the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters, famed mutant advocate, and fierce critic of nearly every single one of Erik’s policies. Erik kind of hated him. He hated how Xavier lived in New York and would probably never come to Genosha, so Erik would never get the chance to tell him how wrong he was to his face.

He glanced at the clock. 12:38. He had some time.

Reaching for his coffee, he leaned back in his chair and began to read the piece. It was about the New York public school system and its mutant accommodations, or lack thereof, and Xavier’s words were, as usual, dazzling and moving. He was an incredible writer, concise and thoughtful and insightful all at once.  _If only you weren’t so goddamn naïve,_ Erik thought regretfully.  _The things you could do with that brilliant mind of yours_.

The door opened again. “Ready?” Kitty asked. She had a folder in her hands, probably full of the talking points he was supposed to stick to for his phone call.

“Almost,” Erik said, skimming quickly through the rest of the piece. He had nearly reached the end when his eyes snagged on  _Genosha_ , and he stopped, scrolled back up, and read that paragraph again, more thoroughly this time.

_…a cursory look at the public education system on Genosha, which, at a glance, is currently more comprehensive and better-suited to mutant education than any equivalent program in the United States. But that, of course, is only to be expected from a nation uniquely sensitive to individual mutant needs. I look forward to seeing Genoshan schools firsthand on my upcoming visit in March._

Erik’s heart gave a mighty jump. He went still, wondering if he was having some kind of palpitations.

Kitty gave him a strange look. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

Erik frowned and put his phone down. “I think I need a cardiologist. Or I need to cut back on my caffeine intake.”

“I’ll make a note for both,” Kitty told him, coming over to slap the folder down onto his desk. “Anyway, the PM’s going to be on any minute now.”

“Thank you.”

With that, she ducked out so he could take the call. When he looked at the clock again, it was 12:57.

He stole the last three minutes Googling the exact date of Xavier’s planned visit to Genosha. The good professor was planning on attending a mutant education conference at the Braddock Convention Center on March 11 through the 14th. He was, in fact, the keynote speaker.

Erik scribbled down the dates on a sticky note to remind himself to ask Kitty later if he had anything major planned that week. And if he did — well, he was the goddamn King of Genosha. If he wanted to attend a mutant education conference, he was damn well going to do it. And if he wanted to meet Dr. Charles Xavier, he was damn well going to do that, too.

Maybe, he thought, feeling at his pounding heart, after a visit to the cardiologist.


	69. charles and erik adopt a stray puppy AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for pearlo for the prompt: "Erik taking in a stray puppy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [on tumblr here](http://ikeracity.tumblr.com/post/156739441764/prompt-erik-taking-in-a-stray-puppy)

“She has one eye,” Erik says, as if that explains everything.

“I can see that,” Charles replies, looking at the pathetic creature. It’s shivering, soaked to the bone, and, as Erik’s pointed out, in possession of only one crusty brown eye. “What is it doing here?”

“I couldn’t leave her on the street,” Erik says, frowning. He cradles the puppy close to his chest, ignoring the muddy streaks it’s leaving on his t-shirt. “She’d freeze to death. It’s  _February_.”

“Yeah, and this is a  _dorm room_.” Charles waves a hand at their living quarters, which is hardly big enough for two human beings, let along two human beings and a puppy. A puppy with  _very_ large paws. “We can’t have pets. If Janos catches you—”

“He’s not going to catch me,” Erik says dismissively. With one hand, he digs through his dresser until he comes up with a clean towel. “He’s too busy getting high with Azazel, and besides, even if he  _did_  find Rebel—”

“You  _named_  it?”

“If he  _does_  find Rebel,” Erik barrels on, “it’s not like he’ll give a shit anyway. Didn’t Alex keep a lizard in his room for a whole semester?”

Charles resists the urge to rub at his temples. Sometimes Erik’s spontaneity is delightful, and sometimes it’s a headache and a half. “Lizards stay in tanks. Lizards don’t pee everywhere and chew on things and eat shoes.”

Erik gives him a long, exasperated look. “She has  _one eye_.” He swaddles the puppy in the towel and curls the bundle close to his chest again, like he’s holding a baby. “ _One eye_.”

Charles stares at it. The puppy stares back at him with her one eye, black nose twitching. One of her ears sticks up, while the other flops down over the side of her head. She’s a mutt of some sort, perhaps some lab mixed in with pit bull, or something similar. Her fur is brown, darkened by rain and mud, and she’s got white socks on her front legs. As he watches, she opens her tiny mouth in a quiet yawn.

Damn it, she’s adorable.  

“Fine,” he grumbles, flopping back onto his bed. “But you’re taking care of it.”

 _“Her_.”

“Her,” Charles allows. He fishes his biochem textbook out of his backpack, flips it open to the chapter due tomorrow, and props the book up on his pillow. “And you’re paying me back for anything of mine that she destroys.”

Erik smirks and raises an eyebrow suggestively. “That sounds promising.”

Charles rolls his eyes fondly and pulls on his glasses. “Just keep her away from my books.”

*

FIVE YEARS LATER

Charles comes home to a familiar sight: Erik and their dog curled up on the couch together, Rebel on Erik’s chest, her face tucked along the curve of Erik’s shoulder. After unwinding his scarf and hanging up his coat, Charles walks into the living room and drops his satchel onto the armchair before coming over to give Rebel an ear rub.

“Hi, girl,” he says softly. “How was your day?”

She licks his hand and starts to get up. When her elbow digs into Erik’s ribs, Erik wakes up with a wheeze and flails for a moment before Rebel slides off him with a disgruntled noise, her tail wagging.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Charles says, amused. Kicking off his shoes, he crawls onto Erik, taking up the space Rebel had vacated.

Rubbing his eyes, Erik yawns. “What time is it?”

“Almost seven.”

“You’re home late.”

“I had a lot of work to catch up on. And I had a lot of explaining to do after  _someone_  tore up the term papers I was supposed to be grading.” He aims a glare over Erik’s shoulder at Rebel, who wags her tail and licks his face until he splutters and buries his face into Erik’s neck, laughing.

“You shouldn’t have left the papers on the ground,” Erik says, wrapping his arm comfortably around Charles’s back. “You know everything on the ground is fair game.”

“Why do you always take her side?” Charles grumbles.

“She has one eye,” Erik points out.

“Yes,” Charles harrumphs, “I know. She’s had one eye since the very beginning. She had one eye and looked properly pathetic and stole your heart before I could. You don’t have to remind me.”

“Mmm, don’t pout.” Erik turns his head to nibble at Charles’s earlobe.  _I don’t kiss her like I kiss you_.

“That would be disgusting,” Charles informs him. Erik is very fond of using tongue.

“Probably,” Erik agrees. “And,” he adds, letting his hand slide down to grip Charles’s ass, “I don’t touch her like I do you.”

“Now this is just getting weird,” Charles mutters. He strokes back Erik’s hair and then kisses the corner of his mouth.  _Instead of talking about groping our dog, can we take this somewhere more private?_

“What?” Erik teases. “You don’t like when Rebel watches us? She only has one eye.”

Charles groans and pushes himself off of Erik and the couch. “I’m going to be in the bedroom. Come  _alone_.”

Erik laughs and holds out a hand to rub Rebel’s ears. “Yes,  _sir.”_


	70. vampire dads AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for madneto for the prompt: "daddy kink but ACTUAL DADDIES."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [on tumblr here](http://ikeracity.tumblr.com/post/156833538459/daddy-kink-but-actual-daddies)

When Erik got home that afternoon, he found Charles flying down the hallway in his wheelchair, Lorna perched on his lap and shrieking with excitement. Just as they were about to hit the wall, Charles yanked them to a sudden stop, and Lorna clutched at his shirt with a scream, then yelled, “Daddy, you almost made me  _fall off!”_

“Bad Daddy!” Erik called from the front hall where he was stripping off his scarf. 

Lorna’s eyes lit up when she spotted him. Scrambling off of Charles’s lap, she ran over to fling herself into Erik’s arms. “Papa!”

Erik heaved her up into his arms. She was almost getting too big to pick up, all gangly limbs and awkwardly balanced weight. “Is Dad misbehaving again?” he asked, shooting Charles a stern look.

“Yes!” Lorna’s green braids bounced as she nodded vigorously. “He almost killed me!”

Wheeling himself over, Charles rolled his eyes. “This is the thanks I get for giving her rides all afternoon? I feel used.”

Erik laughed and patted Lorna on the back. “Why don’t you go set the table, Lorna? I’ll tell Dad not to be so cruel to you.”

“Okay!”

As soon as he set her on the ground, she took off, bare feet pattering on the wood floor. How she had so much energy, Erik would never know. Vampires were widely considered inexhaustible, and still neither Charles nor Erik could keep up with her sometimes.

 _Hello, darling,_ Charles said, his hand cool against Erik’s cheek when Erik leaned down for a kiss. Their lips pressed together, brief and sweet.  _How was work?_

Erik groaned and straightened. “Long. Boring. How was your day?”

“Long,” Charles echoed. “Boring. I had three horrifically dull meetings and then my computer died and I had to deal with a terribly unhelpful IT guy. But Lorna had a good day.”

“Did she?”

“Yes. Apparently they learned to count to thirty and Mr. Callahan was very impressed that Lorna already knew all the numbers. Also, everyone in her class adores her hair.”

“As they should.”

“As they should,” Charles agreed, smiling. “Come on, get your coat off. Lorna’s been  _staaarving_  since five.”  

Erik shucked off his coat obediently. After he hung it up, they went to join Lorna in the kitchen and found the table set as always: a plate and silverware for her, and two tall, empty glasses for them. Ruffling her hair, Erik headed over to the fridge to find some leftover mac and cheese to heat up for her, and a couple of blood packets for himself and Charles.

“There’s a teacher like you at school,” Lorna told Charles solemnly.

“Like me?” Charles asked with a pang of worry. He exchanged a quick glance with Erik over her shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“Well he can throw fireballs with his hands!” Scrunching up her nose, she thrust her hands out and shouted, “Bang!  _Bang!_  Like that!” Then she frowned. “But we didn’t actually get to see him do it because he said that would be too dangerous and he might accidentally set the classroom on fire. He said he might accidentally set one of  _us_  on fire! But that wouldn’t be too bad. Maybe he’d set Billy Parker on fire, if we’re lucky. I hate Billy Parker.”

“Lorna!” Charles scolded, even as both he and Erik concealed their relief. The teacher was a mutant like them. Nothing more. “We don’t wish for anyone to get injured, even if we hate them. In fact, we shouldn’t even hate people, if we can help it.”  

“Why not? Papa hates  _everyone!”_

Erik laughed. “That’s not true, Lorna,” he said, even though it was mostly true. “I like you. And I like your dad.”

“You  _love_  Dad! You kiss him!” Lorna scrunched up her nose again. “Ew!”

Erik laughed again as he stuck the container of mac and cheese into the microwave. As it began to warm up, he came over to the table with the blood packets, poured one carefully into Charles’s glass, then tipped the other one into his own.

“When will I get to drink what you and Daddy do?” Lorna asked, kicking her feet.

Charles smiled. “Not anytime soon, darling.”

“But when I grow up?”

“We’ll talk about it when you grow up.”

He and Erik had mulled the idea over before, giving Lorna the choice to be changed, but they hadn’t discussed it in any detail. That talk was still years and years away, thankfully. They had time to consider all the pros and cons.

Lorna sighed, then shrugged. “It smells weird anyway.”

When the microwave beeped, Erik went to pull out the mac and cheese and came back to spoon it over onto Lorna’s plate. She waited politely for Erik to be seated, then picked up her fork and dug in voraciously.

“Vegetables tomorrow,” Charles said, half to himself.

Lorna shot him a stink eye. “No vegetables!”

“Growing children need vegetables,” Charles said sternly. “And your Papa and I need to remember that.” They were terrible at remembering the food pyramid sometimes, a consequence of not having to think about proper human nutrition for upwards of sixty years. But Lorna wasn’t a vampire, and she needed grains and dairy and meat and vegetables and fruit. They really had to keep that in mind.

“Why can’t I just drink blood every night like you guys?” Lorna asked sulkily. “There’s no vegetables in blood.”

“Because it smells weird and it isn’t good for you,” Charles replied, hiding a smile. “Besides, you love mac and cheese.”

Lorna stabbed a handful of shells with her fork and heaved a sigh. “Yeah.”  

The rest of dinner passed uneventfully, and afterwards, Lorna went to watch cartoons while Erik and Charles cleaned up in the kitchen. It was the first time all night they really had a moment to themselves so they indulged in a deep kiss, slow and wet and thorough, with plenty of tongue — the kind of kiss that would have Lorna shrieking in horror if she saw it. Charles licked the taste of blood off Erik’s mouth and grimaced. “I don’t know how you can stand that.”

“I don’t know how you can stand to drink type O blood, but you somehow enjoy it anyway,” Erik shot back.

“Type O is a  _delicacy_ ,” Charles replied. “Type AB is just…” He shuddered.

Erik snorted. Straightening up, he turned to the sink and started to rinse off Lorna’s plate. “Speak for yourself.”

“You’re lucky I like you for your body and not for your taste,” Charles sniffed.

“Oh, you are going to  _pay_  for that later,” Erik muttered.

Charles smiled sweetly. “I look forward to it.”

For the rest of the evening, they joined Lorna on the couch. After she bored of her usual cartoons, they put on Zootopia. Since it was a weekend, she was allowed to stay up later than usual, but even so, she fell asleep halfway through the movie, snuggled up between them, her head pillowed against Charles’s ribs.

Erik looked down at her, his heart swelling. It had nearly been two years now since they’d adopted her, and still he couldn’t believe sometimes how lucky he was to have her. To have her and Charles both.

“I know,” Charles said softly, smiling at him. “We lucked out, didn’t we?”

“We did,” Erik agreed. Not many vampires they knew from the old days were still around, and not many of those that were could claim to be happy. And there was no doubt about it — Erik was  _happy_. Happier than he’d ever been before, in his previous life or this one.

 _I love you_ , Charles whispered, reaching over to lace their fingers together.  

Erik squeezed his hand and smiled.  _I love you, too_.  


	71. college AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for turtletotem. Charles and Erik have fun at a house party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [on tumblr here](http://ikeracity.tumblr.com/post/156859872629/how-about-this-something-with-established)

Erik shows up at the party an hour and half late because of a late-night exam, and consequently, he’s pretty much the only sober one there by the time he arrives. Janos is flat on the floor, passed out, Angel and Raven are having a dance-off in the kitchen, and Azazel and Kitty are fighting on the beer pong table, spilling beer everywhere and accusing each other of cheating. The living room is crammed full of other people Erik knows by face but not by name, all of them in various states of drunkenness, playing King’s Cup. He edges past them to the kitchen and sets about pouring himself a rum and coke.

“Erik!” Raven exclaims, bouncing over to him. Her breath smells like cheap beer, and her grin is a little sharp. “There you are! We’ve been looking for you for half an hour!”

“Well, seeing as how I just got here,” Erik says in amusement, “that explains why you didn’t find me.”

“You fucker,” Raven says affectionately, for no apparent reason, and then shrieks as Angel tugs her ponytail to draw her back into their dance battle.

The house is warm, a bit stifling, and smells of liquor and weed. Erik’s glad he left his leather jacket in the car. Ducking through the low entryway that leads to the back room, he squeezes past two boys he doesn’t know grinding up on each other in the hallway and finally finds Charles in the room beyond, yelling obscenities at someone named Jack.

“Erik!”

He turns to find Moira weaving her way over to him, looking harried. “ _Finally._ Can you please control your stupid boyfriend?”

“What’s my stupid boyfriend up to?” Erik asks, taking a sip of his rum and coke.

“He keeps  _insisting_  on saying the exact wrong things at the exact wrong times, even though he’s supposed to be diplomatic and, you know,  _smart_. He’s going to get us all killed!”

“I’m not going to get anyone killed!” Charles protests. “I’m just upping the stakes!” When he spots Erik there in the doorway, his whole face lights up in delight and he shouts, “ERIK!”

He says it both aloud and in Erik’s head, very loudly, and Erik winces at the sudden stab of pain. Immediately Charles hastens to smooth it over, his mental fingers running clumsily and contritely over Erik’s mind. “I’m sorry,” he says as Erik comes over to where he’s sitting by the table. “I was just very excited to see you.”

“I can tell,” Erik replies, leaning down for a kiss. Charles tastes like a terrible mix between gin and beer. His face is hot and flushed under Erik’s touch. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Not much,” Charles says, at the same time Moira says, “ _Way_ too much.”

“I’m not even drunk,” Charles sniffs. He lifts Erik’s drink from his hand and takes a sip. “Thank you, darling.”

“You’re welcome,” Erik says dryly.

“Anyway,” Moira says loudly, shooting Charles a deadly look, “let’s  _not_  provoke the giant dragon, if that’s okay?”  

“I’d like to cast vicious mockery,” Charles declares.

The entire table — six or seven people — groans, and the fluffy-haired boy at the head of the table asks in annoyance, “ _Again?”_

“I fucking hate you,” Moira mutters.

“Why did you think it was a good idea to play Dungeons and Dragons with him drunk again?” Erik asks her. It’s usually not even a good idea to play DnD with Charles sober. He’s uniquely terrible at it.

Moira rolls her eyes. “He was sober when we started.” She shoots Erik a suggestive look. “Can’t you take him out back and — ”

“Shoot him,” someone nearby grumbles.

“ — and sober him up,” Moira finishes, stifling a laugh.

“Nooooo,” Charles says, pouting. “I want to finish this battle.”

Leaning down over the back of Charles’s chair, Erik whispers in his ear, “We can make out under that big willow tree.”

Charles pushes his chair back immediately, nearly crushing Erik’s toes. “Excuse me,” he says loudly to the table. “Something urgent’s come up.”

“Something called your dick,” Moira says, and this time she doesn’t even bother hiding her smile.

Charles smiles primly back at her, puts a hand on Erik’s elbow, and propels him toward the back door.

The house’s backyard is spacious and warm, with plenty of little shadowy corners for lovers to get lost in. A couple of girls are smoking by the back porch, which makes Charles cough and wrinkle his nose as they pass. Just as they’re climbing down the porch stairs, Charles turns to them and says, “Smoking kills!”

They shoot him amused looks and Erik tells them, “He’s drunk.”

“We can see that,” one of the girls says wryly. She eyes the way Charles is leaning against Erik and asks, “You guys know each other?”

“He’s my boyfriend!” Charles informs her gleefully. “He’s not dragging me into a dark corner to ravage me, but thank you for your concern.”

The girl’s eyebrows shoot up. “Telepath,” Erik explains as he pulls Charles further into the backyard, “and bad at it.”

“I’m an  _excellent_  telepath,” Charles argues. “Also — ” He pulls to a stop and wrinkles his nose again. “People are having sex under our willow tree. Three people. No, four.”

Erik stares at the huge, dark tree, and yes, now that’s he listening, he  _definitely_ hears fucking going on.

“Stop fucking!” Charles shouts at them. “I want to fuck my boyfriend!”

Almost instantly, some girl shouts back, “Fuck off!”

“Well,” Charles says, clearly offended. “That was rude.”

Erik laughs and slings an arm around Charles’s shoulders. “Come on, we can go make out in my car.”

Charles’s face and his mind light up simultaneously, sending shivers of pleasure down Erik’s spine. “My boyfriend is the  _smartest_ ,” he declares, kissing Erik’s neck several times. “Oh! Speaking of smart, how did your exam go?”

“Well enough.”

“Did my studying strategy help you?” Charles grins wickedly and paws at Erik’s trousers. “Isn’t it much better when you have incentives?”

“It was much more distracting, that’s what it was,” Erik says fondly. He steers Charles back into the house, through the back room (where Moira is now shouting at Jack about God knows what), the kitchen (where Raven is now giving Angel a piggyback ride), and the crush of the living room. When they push out into the fresh air of the outdoors again, Erik takes a deep, relieved breath. Parties like these are much more Charles’s scene than his, though he doesn’t mind tagging along for Charles’s sake.

“Watch your head,” he says as he pours Charles into the backseat.

“Get in here,” Charles orders imperiously.

Erik huffs. “Yes, sir.”

He climbs in on top of Charles and shuts the door behind himself with a jerk of his power. Charles immediately reaches up to pull him closer, arms winding around Erik’s neck, his breath hot against Erik’s cheek.

“Erik,” he says solemnly, locking eyes with him, “I love you.”  

A warm tingle radiates outward from Erik’s chest. No matter how many times Charles says those three words, they still affect Erik the same way every damn time. “I love you, too,” he says softly, brushing Charles’s unruly hair back with one hand. “Even if you’re a stupid drunk.”  

“How dare you,” Charles growls. He surges up for a kiss, bites down on Erik’s bottom lip.  _You deserve a spanking for that_.

Erik grins.  _I doubt you could hit the side of a barn right now_.

 _That doesn’t even make sense._ Charles buries his fingers into Erik’s hair and pulls him closer.  _Just shut up and kiss me._

Erik rolls his eyes.  _So fucking bossy._

 _It’s part of my charm_. Charles kisses him soundly and slips his hand down under the waistband of Erik’s jeans.

They don’t talk much more after that.


	72. FBI agent charles and crime lord erik AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for an anon prompt: "I don't really remember how it goes, but Charles had been on Erik's trail for a while, and then Erik shot him and left him paralyzed. Afterwards I think Charles had to ask for his help in catching Shaw? Something around those lines. :D I just really wanted to see the breaking point of lust/guilt/unwilling affection between the two. :D" 
> 
> Doesn't follow the prompt exactly but gets at the general idea!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [on tumblr here](http://ikeracity.tumblr.com/post/156908702879/im-pretty-sure-it-was-you-but-considering-how)

The café was small. Cozy. It wasn’t Charles’s usual haunt, but evidently he was trying new things because there he was, sitting in the corner table by the window, enjoying a scone and a drink (tea, more likely than not, and probably Earl Grey at that). He looked even more tired than usual. His face was pale and drawn, and he kept rubbing at the dark circles under his eyes. He hadn’t been sleeping well, that much was obvious.

Because of the case? Erik wondered. Or because of him?  

He watched Charles from across the street, half-hidden behind a newspaper stand. He’d been tailing Charles from the moment Charles had left Federal Plaza that afternoon, and so far, Charles hadn’t noticed. Erik found himself slightly annoyed by that. What kind of self-respecting FBI agent couldn’t even tell he was being followed? He’d expected Charles to catch on twenty minutes ago.

Of course, Charles  _had_  seemed off these past few days. Distracted. Absentminded. It was unlike him. Erik was…concerned.

Which was the reason why he was here, keeping a careful eye on Charles, because if he hadn’t noticed Erik on his tail, then he  _certainly_  hadn’t noticed Shaw’s thug. The man had been following them for hours. Erik had first glimpsed him when he’d met Charles for lunch in Midtown. After he’d left, it had been clear that the man was focused on Charles, not on him. He’d surreptitiously circled back around to the restaurant, taken a picture of the man, and sent it to Angel, who’d identified him as one Patrick Larson, a known associate of Shaw’s.

Larson wasn’t looking to kill Charles, of that Erik was relatively certain. Shaw wasn’t stupid; he wouldn’t send a hitman after an FBI agent. But he’d sent people to intimidate political opponents before, and he presumably wasn’t above trying to intimidate the federal agent investigating him.

It wouldn’t work — Erik knew from personal experience that Charles was nearly impossible to intimidate, and that nothing in the world could force him to drop a case once he’d begun. But Larson was known for employing unsavory tactics that often produced permanent results, and Erik would not stand for that.

He eyed the street again. No sign of Larson yet.

In the café, Charles flagged down a passing waitress to ask for a refill on his tea. When she came back with the teapot, Charles smiled at her, warm and thankful.

Clenching his teeth, Erik stamped down the hot jealousy that surged up. It was his own fucking fault that Charles would never smile at him like that, would never consider him anything other than a necessary evil. He didn’t know why his fucking stupid heart refused to understand that.

A flicker of movement to his right caught his eye. Picking up a New York Times, he opened it up and flipped casually through it as he glanced down the street. Larson strolled past a diner, past a bodega, his gaze trained on the café window where Charles sat. In his jeans, t-shirt, and denim jacket, he blended in well enough with the other passerby, but Erik could feel the imprint of a gun hidden in a shoulder holster, as well as several knives concealed in his pockets. He clearly meant business.  

Setting down the newspaper, Erik moved to intercept him. He was nearly on top of Larson before the man noticed him, and by then, it was too late: Erik already had his own gun out, aimed straight at Larson’s heart, and with a flick of his pistol, he gestured Larson into the alley beside the café.

“You’re making a mistake,” Larson growled as he backed up, his hands held loosely at his sides.

“I don’t think so,” Erik said coolly.

“You have no idea who I am.” Larson glowered impressively at him. “Who I work for.”

“Your name is Patrick Larson,” Erik replied. “You’re a two-bit thief and an enforcer. You work for Sebastian Shaw.”

Larson’s eyes widened. Up close, Erik realized how young he was. Late twenties maybe, if that.

“Sebastian Shaw?”  Larson spluttered. “The senator? Are you fucking serious?”

“Deadly,” Erik said calmly. He could tell this was news to Larson, which wasn’t a surprise. Shaw was too cunning to allow this to trace back to him. If it were that easy to connect him to his crimes, Charles wouldn’t have needed Erik’s help at all.

Larson’s eyes darted over Erik’s shoulder, searching for an escape route, or for help. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t even know Shaw.”

“I imagine you don’t.” Erik gestured him back another few steps, further away from the mouth of the alley. “It doesn’t matter.”

Larson eyed the barrel of Erik’s gun. “What the hell do you want?”

“I want to know what you want with Charles Xavier.”

“Who?”

 _“Don’t_  play dumb with me.”

Larson swallowed but didn’t speak. Biting back a growl of impatience, Erik said, “I’m going to ask you a question, and you’re going to nod yes or no. Do you understand?”

There was a long moment of silence. Then Larson nodded, his breathing rapid and shallow.

“Were you hired to follow Charles Xavier?”

Larson nodded.

“To kill him?”

He shook his head.

“To scare him then.” A nod. “To tell him to back off the Sebastian Shaw case?”

Larson hesitated. “I…I was supposed to tell him to back off the Flannery murder. I don’t know anything about the Sebastian Shaw case.”

Of course not. They hadn’t quite connected Shaw to the Flannery case yet, but they were getting close. Close enough that Shaw was sending men after Charles to shut him up. To Erik, that was as good as an admission of guilt.

“Go back to whoever hired you,” Erik said. “Tell him you couldn’t do it.”

Larson blanched. “The guy I work for, he won’t take no for an answer.”

Erik smiled coldly. “Look at my face, Patrick. Do I look like  _I’ll_  take no for an answer?”

Larson’s silence was answer enough.

“Tell your employer that if anyone comes after Charles Xavier again, they’ll answer to Magneto.”

Larson stared at him, wide-eyed and scarcely breathing. “Magneto?” He swallowed again and shoved his now-trembling hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt. “Okay.”

Erik smiled. It was always nice when his reputation preceded him. “Good boy.” Lowering his gun, he stepped to the side. “Now get out of here.”

Without wasting a second, Larson pelted for the street and disappeared. Erik tracked the boy by his gun and knives until he vanished down into a subway station, then tucked his own gun away and stepped out of the alley.

Charles was waiting for him. Erik had been so focused on Larson that he hadn’t noticed Charles’s wheelchair on the street outside of the café. Freezing in surprise, he groped for an excuse.

“Don’t bother,” Charles told him. “I have an idea of what just happened.”

“How did you know I was out here?” Had Charles noticed Erik tailing him after all?

“You scared that boy shitless. I felt his fear from inside the café and came out to investigate.” He scowled. “You were following me.”

“I was following him.”

“You were…what? Going to deal with him without telling me?”

Erik paused, wanting instinctively to lie. But from the beginning of their partnership, Charles had demanded honesty from him. So he said, “Yes.”

Charles’s eyes flashed. “I can take care of myself.”

Erik gave him a dubious look. “You didn’t even notice him following you.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Charles snapped. “I don’t need you to — to — ” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “What are you doing anyway? Trying to — fucking make amends or something?”

“Yes,” Erik said simply, because it was true.

That brought Charles up short. Furiously, he clenched his jaw for a moment, then opened his mouth. But whatever he saw in Erik’s face made him close his mouth again without a word. Slowly, all the anger leaked out of his expression. The look he gave Erik was searching, confused, a bit lost.

“I hate you,” he said, but there was no fire in his voice. “You know that.”

Erik didn’t flinch. “I know.”

Charles let out a soft noise that was almost a laugh. “Fuck,” he whispered. Then he swallowed, breathed deeply for a long moment, and said, “Come on.”

Surprised, Erik didn’t move. “What?”

“I didn’t finish my tea,” Charles said, turning his chair back toward the café. “And…” He hesitated. “And I figure I owe you a coffee for that. For dealing with Larson.”

Too startled to speak, Erik just stared at him. What was this? A peace offering? An olive branch? After everything he had done to Charles?

Charles shot him a glare. “It’s a coffee,” he growled, wheeling toward the café door. “Don’t overthink it.”

Breathlessly, Erik followed. “I won’t.”


	73. hater app AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for lamialee for this prompt: "Here's some writing prompt for your consideration :D Erik and Charles meet each other 'Hater' a dating app where people find their date based on their mutual dislikes. It could be that they're thought to be a perfect match, or not compatible at all, but they both would like to give the other a chance anyway."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [on tumblr here](http://ikeracity.tumblr.com/post/158170305184/heres-some-writing-prompt-for-your-consideration)

The café is small but it doesn’t look cramped, just cozy. There are only about five or six tables inside but it seems fairly busy, patrons streaming in and out with decent regularity. Charles is inclined to like it — he has a deep fondness for small, locally-owned coffee shops, after all, especially wheelchair-accessible ones. He still wishes he’d been able to find the time to come to the grand opening last week, but, well, there’s no better time than the present.

Wheeling himself inside, he spends a minute admiring the gentle lighting, the inventive designs on the metal legs of the tables, the gorgeously done chalkboard menus. Whoever decorated the place ought to get a raise — it’s tasteful, casual, and fun. Exactly the kind of café Charles likes. And whatever’s baking in the kitchen smells  _heavenly_.

Given that it’s nine in the morning, the line is quite long, but it moves quickly. Within five minutes, Charles is at the counter, and the boy behind the counter asks, “What can I get you?”

He manages to sound only half as bored as he actually is. Charles doesn’t even have to peek into the boy’s mind to see how much he wants to be somewhere else — he’s obviously distracted, working on autopilot while his thoughts wander far away. A quick glance at his nametag reveals his name to be Erik. He looks about Charles’s age, maybe a year or two older. He’s…quite attractive.

When Charles pauses a moment too long, Erik blinks and refocuses his gaze on him. “What can I get you?” he asks again, with a touch of impatience this time.

“Er — tea please. Earl Grey.”

Erik taps on the screen of the tablet in front of him. “What size?”

“Medium.”

Another tap. “For here?”

“Yes.”

“Okay…” Erik swipes his finger across the screen and adds, “And name?”

“Charles.”

“Okay. Is that all?”

Charles considers for a moment, then points to a platter of pastries in the glass counter. Everything looks delicious, honestly, but he’s been eyeing those since he joined the line. “Could I have one of those?” He frowns at the label. “Rug…lock?”

Erik’s gaze flicks to where Charles is pointing. “ _Rugelach,_ ” he corrects, tapping the screen one more time. “Is that all?” When Charles nods, Erik says, “That brings your total to $6.84,” and holds his hand out for Charles’s card.

Within a couple of minutes, Charles is settled into the corner table by the window, rugelach and tea set out in front of him. As he waits for his tea to cool a bit, he pulls his phone out of his jacket pocket and glances over his notifications. He has a couple of emails from his biogenetics professor reminding the class about their extra lab next week, an email from his mother reminding him that he’s expected home this weekend for Kurt’s birthday celebration (he deletes that one), a text from Raven about how gin tastes disgusting coming back up the next morning, and a handful of messages from Hater, telling him he has new matches.

He clicks on the last cluster of notifications, resting his fingers against the handle of the teacup. He’s still highly amused every time he opens this app — he’d downloaded it on a whim, entertained by the premise, and he has to admit, he’s actually enjoyed it. The app’s only netted him one date so far, and an awkward one at that, but glancing through an array of handsome men and beautiful women in the Manhattan area is a pretty good way to kill time.

Over the next several minutes, Charles flicks through a few profiles, answers a few questions ( _hate cargo shorts, hate Adam Sandler movies, like Halloween_ ), and sips at his tea, which is shockingly good. He’s just reaching to take a bite of the rugelach when he realizes someone’s attention is focused on him — and quite strongly, too.

Looking up, he scans the café, searching for whoever’s staring at him. His gaze skips over a table of girls chatting about their sociology class, an older gentleman reading a newspaper, a couple arguing about a crossword, and finally settles behind the register, where Erik is standing, his attention fixed on Charles.

As soon as their eyes meet, Erik jerks his gaze away, embarrassment flaring from his mind at having been caught staring. Had he been staring at the chair? Charles wonders. It’s been a long time since Charles felt self-conscious about it, but it’s still a bit unnerving, bordering on irritating, whenever it seems to draw more interest than Charles himself does. He’s a man in a wheelchair, and it shouldn’t be as much of an attraction as some people seem to think it is.

Determined not to let the moment ruin his morning, Charles turns back to his phone. He’s only swiped a few more questions before he feels Erik’s attention settle on him again, intense and impossible to ignore. This time Charles wastes no time in glaring at him, and Erik at least has the good grace to flush, turning away and busying himself with wiping down the counter.

His phone buzzes in his hand — Raven’s sent him another text. Before clicking on it, Charles switches over to the screen that shows his matches. He has eight recent, unseen ones, highlighted in red. He skims over them, looking for someone who really catches his eye, and nearly drops his phone.

It’s Erik. Erik’s profile is the second from the bottom of the list of recent matches, and it’s a pretty damn good match, too, at 82%.

Suddenly the reason Erik’s been staring at him strikes Charles like a two-by-four to the face — Erik must have seen their match earlier and recognized Charles. He must have been just as startled as Charles is now, because what are the  _chances_ , in a city as big as Manhattan?

Charles shoots a glance over to Erik, who’s serving a customer at the counter. After a moment, he clicks on Erik’s profile, feeling a bit like a stalker, even though he’s got a  _perfectly_  valid reason for having Erik’s information on his phone.

Erik. Age 22. Jewish. Mutant and proud. Bisexual. Hates mutantphobia. Hates Donald Trump. Hates suppressants. Hates pineapple on pizza. Hates horror movies. Hates cargo shorts.

Promising stuff. And a mutant, too — Charles slides an appreciative glance over to Erik, trying to figure out what his mutation might be. It’s not physical, not that Charles can see anyway. And it doesn’t seem to be psionic — usually Charles can sense other psionic mutations right away.

Erik turns and their eyes meet again. This time, Charles offers a sheepish smile and holds up his phone, screen tilted so Erik can see that he’s on the Hater app. Erik tenses, then relaxes, then offers a sardonic grin of his own. After a moment, he wipes his hands on his jeans, glances at the door to make sure no one else is on their way in, and comes over to where Charles is sitting.

“Hey,” he says. “I didn’t mean to stare at you earlier. I mean, I did, but I didn’t want to be creepy. I just recognized you from your profile.”

“I figured.” Charles smiles up at him. “We seem to hate a lot of the same things.”

“Yeah, but then I looked through your profile,” Erik replies, making a face.

Charles frowns, disappointed and a bit hurt. “What?”

“You think Star Trek is better than Star Wars,” Erik huffs. “That’s kind of a deal-breaker.”

Charles laughs, warmth and real interest blossoming in his chest. Erik is a mutant, he’s tall, he’s  _extremely_  attractive, and he seems to have a sense of humor. He’s kind of exactly Charles’s type.

“Well I’m sorry you have bad taste,” Charles says, and Erik’s mouth twitches.

“Erik?”

Both of them look over across the room to where an older woman is standing behind the counter, raising an eyebrow at Erik and gesturing to the unmanned register. “That’s my mother,” Erik says, sighing. “She runs this place. I’d better get back over there.”

Charles, who’d been just about to offer Erik a seat, stifles his disappointment. “All right.”

“But,” Erik adds, “I get off in about an hour. Do you want to maybe share some babka with me?” He pauses for a moment, then says, “On the house.”

Charles grins, suddenly extremely glad he’d chosen today of all days to try out this new café. “I have no idea what babka is,” he replies, “but I look forward to finding out.”

Erik grins back at him and carefully slides the half-empty teacup from Charles’s hand. “Let me top this up for you.”

As he walks away, Charles notes that Erik has a very nice ass. He has a very nice  _everything,_ honestly.

Humming cheerily under his breath, Charles closes the Hater app on his phone. He has a feeling he’s not going to need it anymore. 


	74. they're just happy and domestic AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for granclaire for the prompt: "May I request some Cherik involving Erik just being really happy? Maybe they're on vacation or Erik drank too much or it's their wedding day; literally anything with happy!Erik would be grand!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [on tumblr here](http://ikeracity.tumblr.com/post/158256701604/congratulations-ike-may-i-request-some-cherik)

The morning after, Erik woke up to find Charles snuggled so close to him that there was barely even any space to breathe. His face was tucked into Erik’s shoulder, his hair falling over Erik’s nose and mouth. He had an arm wrapped possessively around Erik’s chest, and he was letting off heat like a furnace. A light sheen of sweat stuck their naked skin together everywhere they were connected. Erik’s right arm, wedged under Charles’s body, had gone numb, and his bladder was starting to let him know that it needed to be emptied, quite urgently.

It was uncomfortable, but Erik was absolutely determined not to move. He’d fantasized about waking up with Charles in his arms, in his  _bed,_ for the last two years. He was going to savor every second of this for as long as he could, discomfort be damned.

“That’s sweet.”

Erik started and turned his head, nose pressing against Charles’s ear. “You’re awake?”

Charles shifted around so he could look up into Erik’s face and smiled. “I’ve been awake for a while. I was just waiting for you to wake up.” He ran his hand along Erik’s bare chest and smirked. “And just enjoying this, of course.”

When he touched the hickey he had sucked into Erik’s collarbone last night, Erik shivered. The idea of Charles marking him filled him with sharp satisfaction and pleasure. The fact that he’d marked Charles up in return only deepened his satisfaction.

After a moment, Charles rolled off of Erik’s arm. When cold air rushed in against Erik’s side to replace him, Erik made a disgruntled noise and tried to reel him back in. Twisting away, Charles laughed and said, “I know you have to go to the bathroom. Go on.”

The last thing Erik wanted to do was leave the bed but he really did have to pee, so with a sigh, he slipped regretfully out from under the covers and padded over to the bathroom. Pushing the door shut, he relieved himself quickly, washed his hands, and then paused to examine his reflection in the mirror above the sink.

Charles had certainly done a number on his neck: dark red hickeys marched up the column of Erik’s throat, all the way up to the curve of his jaw. At least they didn’t have work until Monday; those hickeys would be difficult to hide, and he and Charles couldn’t afford to be found out. They’d have to tell the captain sooner or later, but for now…well, Erik wanted it to be just Charles and him for a while longer. Just them.

When he returned to the bedroom, he found Charles already out of bed, much to his disappointment. But he was wearing Erik’s shirt, which was  _very_ nice.

“Sorry, darling,” Charles said when he caught sight of Erik’s frown, “but I’m  _starving_. You don’t mind if we have breakfast before round two, do you?” He pinched the collar of Erik’s shirt. “And you don’t mind if I borrow this, do you?”

“No to both,” Erik said, grinning. “Come on, let’s find something to eat.”

Erik’s fridge was emptier than he liked, but they’d been working the Zhang case for the last week and a half and he hadn’t had time to restock it. As Charles picked through the coffee selections (coffee was the one thing Erik always kept on hand, no matter how pitiful the rest of the kitchen was), Erik fetched some orange juice from the fridge and poured them each a glass.

“Do you have eggs?” Charles asked, cupping his glass of juice between his hands. The sleeves of Erik’s shirt fell over his wrists charmingly.  

Erik grimaced. “No. But I could run out and get some if you really wanted.”

Charles waved him off. “No, it’s fine. I just had a craving for an omelet, but that’s all right.”

“I have some granola bars,” Erik said, poking through his pantry. “Oatmeal. There’s some stale bread, too, but it’d probably taste fine toasted.”

When no reply came, Erik glanced over and found Charles regarding him with an odd look. “What?” Erik asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing. It’s just…” Sipping at his juice, Charles shrugged. “You’re always so neat and organized and on top of things at work. I figured you’d be just as put-together at home. It’s a bit of a surprise to see that you’re not, that’s all.”

An embarrassed flush heated Erik’s cheeks. “If I’d known you were coming over, I would’ve prepared. And we’ve been working overtime for days. I’m not usually so — ” He waved a hand vaguely at the fridge, at the pantry.

Setting his glass down on the counter, Charles closed the distance between them and pressed up against Erik, chest to chest. They’d both pulled on boxers, but Erik could feel Charles’s cock against his thigh through the thin fabric. It was  _incredibly_ distracting.

“It’s all right,” Charles said, smiling endearingly up at him. “I think it’s charming. It makes me hate you a little less.”

Both of Erik’s eyebrows shot up. He wasn’t offended, just startled. “You hate me?”  

Charles wrapped his arms around Erik’s neck. “Can you blame me? You’re tall and you’re gorgeous, you’ve got an amazing mutation, you always seem to have your whole life together, and you’re the best detective I know. At least now I know you have  _some_  flaws.”

Erik barked a laugh. “I have  _many_ flaws, if you ask the captain.”

“Well,” Charles murmured, leaning up, “the captain doesn’t know you like I do.”

“And I hope she never will,” Erik muttered, just before Charles pressed their lips together.

Though they had shared probably a hundred kisses since last night, this one felt new and fresh and electrifying. This was their first kiss of the morning after, their first one in daylight, and it was unbelievably heady. It tasted like orange juice and a bit of morning breath, but Erik didn’t give a shit. Just twelve hours ago, he’d been convinced that his feelings were unrequited, that Charles could never see him as a lover, that making a move would end their partnership for good. And now here they were, making out like horny teenagers against his kitchen counter. Life was fucking amazing sometimes.

Charles broke the kiss with a laugh. “It is, isn’t it?” Eyes gleaming with affection, he ran his hand up through Erik’s hair. “I don’t know how you missed the fact that I’ve been in love with you forever. Aren’t you supposed to be a detective or something?”

Erik groaned. “Shut up.”

Grinning, Charles pulled away and collected his glass of orange juice again. “So. Oatmeal?”

As Erik sorted through the assortment of flavors, Charles parked himself on one of the barstools at the breakfast counter and poked through an assortment of newspapers Erik kept forgetting to recycle. “You’re subscribed to National Geographic?” he asked, eyebrows raised as he lifted the magazine.

Erik narrowed his eyes. “What? It’s excellent.”

“I know. I just didn’t expect it to be to your taste.” Charles thumbed through a couple of half-finished crosswords. “You know, we’ve been partners for two years, and I’m just beginning to realize I really don’t know much about you.”

“You know everything that’s important,” Erik said honestly.

“Everything important. I like the sound of that.”  

Something in his voice made Erik glance over at him. Charles was smiling, his chin leaned against his hand. His eyes were soft and warm as he watched Erik tear a couple of oatmeal packets open and upend them into a bowl. When their eyes met, Charles’s smile softened even further, and he let out a quiet, gentle sigh.

Erik felt his heart thump a bit unevenly. He couldn’t quite name the sharp emotion that welled up in his chest.

“This is all very domestic, isn’t it?” Charles said after a moment.

It was. It had been years since Erik had made breakfast for anyone. After Magda, a part of him had been convinced he’d never make breakfast for anyone else ever again.

And yet.

“Yeah,” Erik said through the sudden lump in his throat. He turned away, focusing on pouring milk out.

“Erik?”

Of course he couldn’t hide from Charles. Even without his telepathy, Charles had always been able to read Erik in a way no one else could. Erik found it both frightening and reassuring — frightening that someone could so easily pierce his defenses, but reassuring that someone saw him,  _knew_ him.  

“It’s just…” Erik turns back around and leans against the counter behind him. “Yesterday I thought I could never have you. And now I do, and you’re here in my kitchen and I’m making you breakfast, and it’s…a little overwhelming, to be honest. But,” he added quickly, “in a good way.”

“Well,” Charles said, smiling, “as long as it’s in a good way.” He hesitated, glancing down at his hands. Then, after a moment, he looked back up and said softly, “I just want you to be happy, Erik. So if this is moving too quickly for you — ”

“ _No_.” Erik shook his head, biting back a laugh. Two fucking years of pining felt like the opposite of  _quickly_. “It’s not. I just…” He shook his head again, faintly embarrassed. Why was it always so hard to put his feelings to words?

“This is the happiest I’ve been in a long time,” he said finally. “And I love you. That’s all.”

Charles got that soft look in his eyes again, and he slid off the barstool and came back over. Leaning up, he gave Erik a slow, gentle kiss that made something deep inside Erik tremble. When he drew back, he was smiling. “I really like it when you’re sappy, Detective,” he whispered.

Erik huffed and nipped affectionately at Charles’s bottom lip. “Shut up.”


	75. bubble soccer AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for unearthlydust for the prompt: ""Fuck you," Charles screamed but it was already too late; they collided into each other and went flying, reminding everyone of the sheer beauty and elegance of bubble soccer."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [on tumblr here](http://ikeracity.tumblr.com/post/159006745259/fuck-you-charles-screamed-but-it-was-already)

“Fuck you,” Charles screamed but it was already too late; they collided into each other and went flying, reminding everyone of the sheer beauty and elegance of bubble soccer. 

Erik, who was even worse at keeping his footing than Charles, tumbled head over heels past several delighted bystanders, who laughed and clapped as he careened away. Raven had her iPhone out and was recording everything, possibly to use as blackmail later when Erik was being even more of an asshole than usual. 

Afterwards, she caught up to both of them and slung her arms around their shoulders companionably. “See? I told you it would be awesome. The soccer team should do more of these kinds of charity events in the future.” 

Obviously annoyed by how much dignity he’d manage to lose in the last hour, Erik glared at her. “I can’t believe people paid to watch this.” 

“I think they paid extra to see you get knocked flat on your arse,” Charles said, laughing. He ducked out from under Raven’s arm to come over on Erik’s other side, wrapping his arm around Erik’s waist and leaning up to kiss his sweaty jaw. “I know I would’ve, if I hadn’t been playing.” 

Erik glowered at him. “Some boyfriend you are.” 

“I recorded the whole game,” Raven said gleefully. “Alex and Sean are coming over later to watch it.” 

Erik groaned, and Charles laughed. “I hate this,” Erik grumbled. 

Charles leaned up and whispered in his ear, “If you don’t complain too much, I’ll make it up to you later.” 

“I love this,” Erik said immediately. 

Charles laughed all the way back to their dorm. 


	76. the students adopt a bunch of cats AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for cattycas for the prompt: "Just pass the salt, please."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [on tumblr here](http://ikeracity.tumblr.com/post/159007714814/just-pass-the-salt-please-for-the-5-sentence)

“Just pass the salt, please.” 

Erik slid the salt shaker across the table with a flick of his hand. “Really, Charles, are you going to be upset at me all night?” 

That earned him only more icy silence as Charles continued to pretend he was the only one in the dining room.  _Honestly_ , Erik thought pointedly at him,  _you’re acting like I destroyed a national monument._

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Charles muttered. 

Erik huffed. “All I did was suggest – ”

“Oh, I think you did more persuading than  _suggesting –_ ” 

“All I did,” Erik continued loudly, “was suggest that having a few cats around the mansion might help with the rat infestation. How was I supposed to know the students would go out and adopt twenty of them?” 

Charles glared at him through red-rimmed eyes and sniffled pathetically. “Perhaps you should have thought of that  _before_  allowing them to take the Lincoln into town. I  _love_  that car, and now it’s covered in damned  _cat fur!”_

“I think you’re more upset about the fact that the students asked  _me_  for permission instead of you,” Erik said calmly. 

“Because I would’ve said no! Because, as you can clearly see, I’m terribly allergic to cats!” 

He punctuated that sentence with a vehement sneeze. Erik tried not to think about how adorable he was. 

“Look, I’ll take the cats back to town in the morning, all right?” 

“Well you can’t  _now_ ,” Charles groused. “Everyone’s gotten attached to them already. I’d have a riot on my hands if I got rid of them.” 

“You really are too good to your students,” Erik told him, more than a little fondly. 

“Well,” Charles growled, stabbing his fork at his chicken, “you’re just going to have to make it up to me later.” 

Erik grinned. “With pleasure.” 


	77. ANOTHER football AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for romaniantelevision. 
> 
> The tabloids have a field day when Erik bites Charles during a match.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [on tumblr here](http://ikeracity.tumblr.com/post/161073055284/for-romaniantelevision-who-sent-me-this-post)

**Lehnsherr Pulls A Suárez? Saturday’s Shocking Incident**

> For a match that was hyped as perhaps one of the most contentious international friendlies of the season, the England-Germany matchup on Saturday started so sedately, it seemed that all the buildup and tense pre-game analyses had been drastically overblown. Thirty minutes in, Germany had taken only two shots on goal (courtesy of Mesut Özil, who was perhaps the only one on the pitch who seemed to recall that this was a professional match, not your workplace’s lunchtime five-a-side). Forty minutes in and Neuer hadn’t been challenged even once. England’s Gareth Southgate, who was recently given a four-year contract as manager, looked on from the sideline, arms crossed.
> 
> Few of us held out hope for any excitement before the halftime whistle sounded. But unexpectedly, the 43rd minute heralded some outlandish drama: Germany’s Erik Lehnsherr suffered what appeared to be quite a rough foul at the hands (or should we say, feet) of England skipper Charles Xavier. Regaining his footing immediately afterwards, Lehnsherr confronted Xavier and, to the astonishment of commentators and viewers alike, appeared to bite Xavier on the side of the neck in the heat of the argument.
> 
> Perhaps more astonishingly, the referee did not appear to have noticed, as he brandished a yellow card only to Xavier for his cynical challenge and awarded Germany the free kick.
> 
> When asked after the match about the incident, Xavier laughed and insisted that Lehnsherr hadn’t bitten him. When pressed on what had happened then, Xavier flashed his trademark grin and said, “Who knows, mate?”
> 
> Who knows, indeed?

“Now everyone’s calling me Suárez’s successor,” Erik complained, tossing his iPad aside. “Fucking  _Suárez!_  I’d sooner be compared to fucking  _Piqué_  and you know how much I hate  _that_  asshole.”  

Charles stroked his shoulder soothingly. “I know, darling. But to be fair, you  _did_  bring this on yourself. If you hadn’t bitten me — ”

“It was an impulse,” Erik muttered.

“Yes, well, if you hadn’t given in to the impulse to  _bite me_ , we wouldn’t be here, would we?”

“Here,” Erik said dryly, willfully misunderstanding him. “In this bed.”

“Well, we’d still be  _here_ …” In this bed, in this hotel, hidden away from the world. Their temporary oasis. Charles kissed Erik’s bare shoulder and then propped himself up on an elbow, giving Erik a suggestive look. “But we might be doing something far more fun than reading the news and getting worked up about it.”

Erik sighed and pushed himself up, too, leaning against the backboard. “I know, I’m sorry. You know I can’t help reading that shit.”

“I know.” Charles leaned over to kiss his shoulder again. “But you know, there  _is_  one good thing that’s come out of this.”

Erik turned to nuzzle Charles’s hair. “And what’s that?”

“Now we know no one’s ever going to figure out we’re dating,” Charles said sagely. “I mean, you gave me a bloody  _hickey_  on live telly and no one’s whispered even a word about the possibility of our being together. That’s pretty good, eh?”

“That’s because people are idiots.”

“Well, yes, there’s that.”

“Besides, that’s not even a proper hickey.”

Charles raised an eyebrow and tilted his chin up so Erik could get a better look at the mark. “Oh? Would you like to try again?”

Erik grinned and bent to mouth at Charles’s throat. “Only because you asked.”


	78. summer camp AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for kaneshirotakeshi for the prompt: "Why does anyone have to be naked?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [on tumblr here](http://ikeracity.tumblr.com/post/164978324544/50-why-does-anyone-have-to-be-naked-cherik)

“Why does anyone have to be naked?” Erik demands, crossing his arms.

“Don’t be dense. It’s called skinny dipping for a reason,” Kitty says, rolling her eyes. She finishes pulling her hair back in a sleek braid and slides off her bunkbed. “Come on, it’s the last day of camp. Live a little!”

Erik doesn’t budge. “I think I’ll pass.”

Ignoring him, Kitty seizes his hand and drags him out the cabin door. “What’re you afraid of? It’s only going to be us and Jean and Alex and some of the other guys — ” She jerks to a stop, a knowing grin spreading slowly across her face. “Oh. It’s Charles, isn’t it?”

Erik glares at her. “What? No.”

“You are  _such_  a bad liar! You’ve been ogling him for the last three weeks! Don’t think I haven’t noticed — I’m your best friend, I’m supposed to notice these things.”

He yanks his hand free from hers. “You’ve been imagining things.”

“ _Imagining things?”_ Kitty lets out a disbelieving laugh. “Erik, I’ve known you for like, twelve years, and I’ve  _never_  seen you look at someone like that. Believe me, I’ve paid attention. Look, you’re blushing!”

“I am not!” Erik snaps. “It’s hot out, that’s all.”

“All the more reason to go swimming,” Kitty says, grabbing his hand again. Though he digs in his heels, she still manages to haul him forward, putting all her considerable upper arm strength to good use. Why the hell had he ever encouraged her to join the rowing team?

“Fine,” he gripes. “I’ll come but I won’t swim.”

“Since when have you been modest? Remember when you used to parade around in nothing but your Superman cape?”

“I was  _five_.”

“Still!”

Erik can hear whoops of laughter through the trees before they reach the lake. It’s dusk already, the last of the daylight rapidly fading. Kitty drags him down the grassy slope down to the sandy shore, glances down toward the water, then shoots him a wicked grin. “Looks like everyone’s already here.”

“Fuck you,” Erik growls. He resolutely does not look.

“I love you, too,” Kitty says sweetly. She tugs her t-shirt off over her head, then shimmies out of her cuffed jean shorts. “Come on, it’ll be fun!”

No, Erik thinks sourly, it will  _not_.

It’s not the nudity he has a problem with; he’s completely comfortable in his own body, and normally he wouldn’t hesitate to join Kitty and everyone else. But the thought of  _Charles_  naked…well, he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to control a certain part of his anatomy, and he’s  _not_  willing to deal with that embarrassment.

As Kitty tugs off the rest of her clothes and dives off the dock, Erik considers heading back to his cabin. If he’s not going to swim, there’s really no point in becoming mosquito bait out here. Kitty’s definitely not going to get out of the lake to drag him in — she’s already pestering Piotr, splashing at him gleefully. The sight of it makes Erik snort — now  _that’s_  ogling.

He turns and climbs back up the grassy slope. A part of him wishes faintly they’d decided to do something else tonight. It’s their last night at summer camp, and though Erik had hated it when it had started, it’s kind of grown on him over the last few weeks. Being around only other mutants has been a breath of fresh air. He hasn’t had to worry about using his powers. He hasn’t had to watch himself around others, wondering if they’ll be offended by his very existence. It’s not that Erik’s ever had a problem expressing his opinions, but it’s different here. He  _knows_  he belongs here.

Plus he’s made friends, sort of. At least, there are people here he wouldn’t mind hanging around with again. And there’s Charles, who’d caught Erik’s eye on the first day here, who’s funny and brilliant and gorgeous and popular and…

 _And definitely out of your league,_ Erik grumbles at himself. It doesn’t matter anyway — tomorrow morning, they’re all loading onto buses to head home, and that will be that.

“Erik!”

He turns around and freezes when he sees who’s called his name: it’s Charles, coming up the slope behind him, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. He’s pale and lean and freckled and dripping lake water, and Erik’s mouth goes dry.

“Hey,” Charles pants as he reaches him. “You aren’t going to swim?”

Erik forces himself not to stare at Charles’s red mouth. “No, I don’t…I didn’t feel like it.”

“Oh.” Charles brushes his wet hair back out of his face. It’s extremely distracting, how electric his eyes are. “What are you going to do then?”

Erik shrugs. “I don’t know. Haven’t decided yet.”

“We could watch a movie,” Charles suggests.

Erik stares at him. “We?”

“Yeah, you mentioned the other day you wanted to watch  _Star Trek,_ right? There’s a copy in the rec room. We could make popcorn.” Charles grins. “Let me just get my clothes and I’ll be back.”

He scrambles back down the slope, leaving Erik standing there, stunned. Charles wants to watch a movie with him? Just the two of them? What does that mean? Does it mean anything? Is he completely overthinking this?

By the time Charles returns, Erik’s thoughts still haven’t regained coherence. Charles has pulled on his shorts and his t-shirt, but his hair’s still damp and there’s water trickling down behind his ear that Erik wants to wipe away with his thumb. He refrains, just barely.

“Ready?” Charles asks, smiling.

They walk together to the rec room, which is usually occupied by at least a few people playing pool or ping pong. Tonight though, it seems like everyone’s down at the lake. The room feels huge and empty with just the two of them.  

“I’ll make popcorn,” Charles says, taking himself off to the kitchenette. “I’m useless at electronics.”

Huffing, Erik turns on the TV, switches it over to the DVD player, and selects  _Star Trek_  off the bookshelf crammed full of movies. Once he’s gotten it all set up, Charles brings over a massive bowl of popcorn and flops down on the couch next to him.

“I love this movie,” he says happily.

“I haven’t seen it before.”

“Oh, then you’re in for a treat. Here.” He balances the popcorn bowl on his knee, tilting it over so Erik can grab some.

Afterwards, Erik would be hard-pressed to name a single plot point in the movie. He spends the whole two hours hyperaware of how close Charles is, how close he’s  _getting_. He has no idea if Charles is shifting toward him purposefully, but by the time the final act commences, Charles is leaning into his side, warm and comfortable and radiating contentment. Erik holds perfectly still, afraid that if he moves, the tranquility of the moment will be shattered.

“You can put your arm around me,” Charles murmurs.

Erik stares at him. “What?”

“I mean, I’d like it if you put your arm around me.” Charles smiles up at him. “If you’d like.”

Heart pounding, Erik complies. Charles snuggles up against his shoulder, and Erik can’t focus on anything except how close he is, how warm he is, how Charles’s damp shirt is making him damp, too, and how much he doesn’t care, at all.  

Too soon, the credits start rolling. Disappointed, Erik starts to draw his arm back, but Charles catches his hand, stopping him. His eyes are bright and mesmerizing and impossible to look away from. Erik wonders if Charles can feel his pulse racing in his wrist.

“You can put your mouth on mine,” Charles says softly, grinning. “If you’d like.”

“That…” Erik releases a sharp, trembling breath. “That’s a terrible line.”

“It’s not terrible if it works.” Charles raises his eyebrow. “Does it work?”  

Erik kisses him.

 _Mmm yes,_ Charles says into his head, pulling him closer.  _That’s the right answer._


	79. college AU with protective erik

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for lamialee for the prompt: “I don’t know if I should kiss you or slap you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [on tumblr here](http://ikeracity.tumblr.com/post/164982013254/lamialee-asked-charles-and-erik-42-42-i-dont)
> 
> tw: homophobic and ableist slurs

“I don’t know if I should kiss you or slap you,” Charles said disapprovingly.

Erik gave him a bloody grin. “I’ll take either. Or you could spank me. That’d really teach me a lesson.”

“Honestly,  _how_  are you joking about this?” Charles demanded. He grabbed up some more gauze from the first aid kit, tossing the bloody ones into the trash. “And close your mouth, for god’s sake, your teeth are going to fall out.”

“It’s a split lip,” Erik huffed, wincing when Charles dabbed at it. “My teeth are fine.”

“About as fine as your eye, I’d say.”

Erik tried to wink at him with his black eye. It hurt, predictably, but it did make Charles’s lips twitch.

“I can’t believe you did this,” Charles muttered. He’d been saying that over and over ever since Erik had showed up at his dorm room, bloody-faced and smiling like a loon. “Craig is an absolute prick and I hate his guts as much as you do, but you didn’t have to get into a  _fistfight_  with him. Even if he did call me a — ” He stopped.  

A faggot. A cripple. A mutie. All of the above.

Erik grinned again, fierce and humorless. His knuckles throbbed at the memory. “Yeah, I did.”  _He insulted you. I had to._

Charles stared at him for a moment. Then he leaned over and hugged Erik tightly, burying his face into Erik’s shoulder. “You’re an idiot,” he said, his voice muffled against Erik’s jacket.  _I love you_.

Erik hugged him back, trying not to wince as the movement pulled at his ribs. It hurt a little to breathe and he was pretty sure his face was a mess, but he’d come out of their scuffle much less banged up than Craig had, and that was really all that mattered. That and the fact that he was pretty sure Craig would be too embarrassed to say anything about their fight to anyone.

After a minute, Charles pulled back. “Why don’t you lie down? I’ll get you some ice for your eye.”

Erik pressed some gauze to his lip and moved over to the bed, settling down gingerly. “Do you mind if I stay over tonight?”

“Oh, you’re  _staying_ ,” Charles said. He rummaged around in the mini-fridge for a moment before coming back with a pack of peas. “Here, put this on your face.”

“Cold,” Erik complained.

“Well that’s what you get for getting into a fight.”

“For defending your honor, you mean?”

“What, do you want a bloody plaque or something?”

“I’d settle for a kiss.”

Erik scooted over, glancing enticingly at the empty space beside him. When he waggled his eyebrows, Charles tried unsuccessfully to smother a smile and huffed, “Fine.” Locking the brakes on his chair, he transferred over onto the bed and slotted himself neatly against Erik’s side. Then he leaned up and gave Erik a very light, very brief kiss.

Even that made Erik’s eyes water. “Ow.”

“You’re full of good ideas today, aren’t you?” Charles said dryly. He held the gauze to Erik’s lip until it had stopped bleeding, then leaned back to inspect Erik’s face. “Well,” he declared, grimacing, “you look sort of hideous, but at least you’ve still got a decent personality.”

“Shut up.”

Charles grinned and snuggled back into his chest.  _I love you,_ he said after a moment. There was a pause, and then he added more softly,  _Thanks._

Erik wrapped an arm around him and tugged him closer, kissing his forehead.  _Next time, you can be the one getting punched in the mouth, and I’ll be the one patching you up._

Charles laughed into his shirt.  _Deal._


	80. drunk married AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for weareunited for the prompt: "I’m alive…I can tell because of the pain."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [on tumblr here](http://ikeracity.tumblr.com/post/165058030884/cherik-18-angst-crack-fluff-this-prompt)

Erik woke up in agony.

It hurt to open his eyes. It hurt to try to speak. It hurt to lift his head.

He lay there for an interminable amount of time with his eyes closed, hoping that the world would stop spinning so his stomach would stop heaving. It didn’t.

“Erik?”

Slowly, painfully, he turned over. Charles was lying next to him looking absolutely, pathetically miserable. Erik could smell the tequila on his breath.

When he dug through his memories of last night, he could only come up with blurry, indistinct flashes. He remembered watching Charles give his best man speech, Raven and Irene cutting the cake, and then food and alcohol and…

And what? His memory faded after that. “What…” he rasped out. “…what the fuck happened?”

Charles moaned, burying his face in his pillow. “Are you alive?” he asked, muffled. “Am  _I_  alive? I feel like I should be dead.”

“I’m alive.” Erik tried to sit up, then fell back, his head throbbing. “I can tell because of the pain.”

Charles moaned again. “I haven’t had a hangover like this since college. What the hell were we thinking? I’m not twenty anymore. You’re not twenty anymore.” He shot Erik a dirty look. “This is all your fault.”

“ _My_  fault?”

“You were the one who wanted to do shots last night!”

Oh. Right. Erik remembered, suddenly, pushing another shot across the bar to Charles, who was already so drunk he’d been trying to flirt with Erik as if they weren’t already dating. So that hadn’t been one of Erik’s brightest ideas. “Oops?”

“Bastard,” Charles grumbled. He raised his hand to push his hair out of his eyes, and Erik went very still.

“Charles…”

“Hmm?”

“What’s that?”

Erik pointed. They both looked at Charles’s hand. There was a ring on his fourth finger, silver and thick and very obviously a wedding band.

“What…” Charles looked flabbergasted. Then he fumbled at the comforter, grabbing Erik’s hand from underneath it.

There was a ring there, too. Solid and silver and pleasant to Erik’s senses.

They stared at each other, speechless. Erik couldn’t muster up a single coherent thought. All he could do was gape dumbly at his hand, then at Charles.  

“Are we… _married?”_ Charles demanded. “Did we get married last night?”

“I…wouldn’t we remember that?” Erik said desperately.

“Oh my god.” Charles squeezed his eyes shut and covered his face with his hands. “Oh my god,” he moaned through his fingers, “we got drunk-married and we don’t remember it. We’re a fucking cliché. We’re the worst fucking cliché in the world.”

Erik stared at the ring on his hand, still struggling to process what was happening. He and Charles had somehow gotten married last night?  _Married?_  And neither of them had any recollection of it?

Oh god, his mother was going to kill him.

“This cannot be happening,” Charles said. “I can’t believe — ”

He was interrupted by the sudden, shrill ringing of one of their phones. Wincing at the spike of pain that shot through his head, Erik fumbled around with his powers, located the phone on the ground, and yanked it toward them. It was Raven.

Charles hit answer and put it on speakerphone. “Hello?”

“ _Charles!_  Finally! I called you three times last night and I’ve been texting you all morning. I thought you and Erik had fallen into a ditch somewhere and died!”

“We’re fine,” Charles groaned, rubbing his temples. “Except…”

“Except?”

“Except it appears we’ve gotten married.”

There was a moment of utter silence. Then Raven burst into laughter.

“This isn’t funny,” Charles grumbled.

“No, you’re right, it’s  _hilarious_ ,” Raven gasped, still laughing. “Oh my god. I didn’t think you were serious last night!”

“Serious?”

“What, you don’t remember staggering out the door with Erik screaming about how unfair it was that Irene and I were married but you and Erik weren’t? Which, way to make my wedding about you, by the way, I’m kind of pissed at you for that — ”

“I did  _what?”_ Charles said, aghast.

“Yeah, and I’m still a little mad at you, but this is too fucking funny. You and Erik got  _married?_ Like, for real?”

Erik fingered the ring on his hand. It certainly felt real.

“Oh, hang on, Irene’s just come in,” Raven said. “Irene, come here! You won’t believe what Charles and Erik did, they — ”

Charles hung up. For several long seconds after that, they simply lay there, staring at each other. Then, unexpectedly, Charles started to laugh, helplessly, and there wasn’t anything Erik could do except join in. It was too absurd not to laugh, too ridiculous. They’d gotten horrifically drunk at Raven’s wedding and then gone off and gotten hitched, somehow. They were  _married_.

“Well,” Charles said once he’d finally calmed down, “I  _was_ thinking about asking you to marry me.”

Erik’s heart performed an odd flip in his chest. “Funny,” he said softly, “I was thinking the same thing.”

Charles beamed at him and snuggled closer, wrapping his arm around Erik’s chest. “Well,” he said pragmatically, “at least we skipped over all the horrors of wedding planning.”

“Yeah, but my mother’s still going to kill me. She’s going to kill  _us_.”

“Maybe we should get out of the state before she finds out. Or out of the country.” Charles brightened. “If we’re married, that means we’re due for a honeymoon, aren’t we?”

Now that  _did_  sound extremely appealing. Suddenly cheered up, Erik grinned and said, “I have a few places in mind.”

“Paris? Cinque Terre maybe?”

Erik tugged him close, hand drifting down to squeeze Charles’s ass. “A private house on the beach,” he murmured. “Just you, me, and a bed.”

“Mmm, darling, you have the best ideas,” Charles whispered against his mouth. He gave Erik a peck and then fell back into his pillow, eyes squeezed shut. “I’ll book a place as soon as my head stops killing me.”

Erik’s head was still throbbing, too. He kicked off the covers. “I’m going to find some Advil.”

“You are the best husband,  _ever_.”

Erik grinned. He could  _definitely_  get used to the sound of that.


	81. keeping up with the joneses AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for earnestly-endlessly for the prompt: “I can think of a million places I’d rather be right now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [on tumblr here](http://ikeracity.tumblr.com/post/165155609734/for-the-prompt-47-i-can-think-of-a-million)

It takes Erik approximately five minutes to decide that neighborhood barbecues are not his thing.

There’s children, for one. Lots of them, running around shrieking and generally getting underfoot. There’s mediocre beer, some American shit, not anything quality. And there’s socializing, too. Worse, there’s the expectation that  _he_ socialize, and if there’s anything Erik really hates, it’s making small talk.

 _Oh, you hate much more than that,_ Charles says. He’s not facing Erik — he’s busy telling some engrossing story to the housewives gathered attentively around him — but Erik can hear the smirk in his voice all the same.  _You hate puppies and sunshine and everything sweet and nice —_

 _That’s enough, you,_ Erik growls.

Charles’s amusement washes over him, then fades as Charles turns his attention back to the housewives. He, of course, has no trouble making friends with their new neighbors. He’s charming and handsome and brilliant and charismatic in ways Erik doesn’t know how to be. Looking at him, one would never guess that he’s anything other than an unassuming, perfectly normal suburban husband.

Erik, on the other hand, feels like he sticks out like a sore thumb. He probably screams  _CIA agent_ in all the ways Charles doesn’t.

“Erik!”

It’s one of the neighbors. Beer in hand, he’s coming over with a grin that suggests he’s going to want to say hi and ask Erik how he’s doing, how he’s liking the neighborhood, exactly the boring shit Erik hates. Still, Erik forces a smile and says as cheerfully as he can manage, “Bruce. Hey.”

Bruce beams. “I wasn’t sure if you were going to come out! Charles said you might be busy with work.”

“Wouldn’t miss this for the world,” Erik says, grinning tightly. He thinks very pointedly in Charles’s direction,  _I can think of a million places I’d rather be right now._

Charles doesn’t turn around, but he does send Erik a gentle nudge that presumably means,  _Be nice, Erik._

“Speaking of Charles,” Bruce says, glancing over in his direction, “your husband’s very popular with the ladies, isn’t he?”

Erik eyes the ring of women around Charles. They’re hanging onto his every word. To be fair, Charles has this effect on everyone he ever meets, so this isn’t anything new. “Is he?” Erik asks, taking a sip of the godawful beer in his hand. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“God, I wish I had an accent,” Bruce says enviously.

Erik grunts noncommittally and pretends to be interested in the dart game going on nearby so he has an excuse to drift away, effectively ending the conversation. As he walks across the yard, he runs his powers through the Johnson house and — finds it empty.

Finally.

_Charles, they’re out of the house, finally._

_Hmm? Oh, all right. You go first, I’ll make my way after._

Erik’s only too glad to toss his beer in the trash and slip quietly away from the party. It’s easy to skirt around the side of the house, slide the latch of the kitchen window open with his powers, and climb inside. He leaves the window unlatched for Charles and then proceeds upstairs.

It doesn’t take long to locate the safe. Erik senses it behind the generic painting on the bedroom wall almost without even looking. Swinging the painting open, he puts a hand on the safe and twists the dial, feeling out the combination.

By the time Charles arrives, Erik has it open and is riffling through its contents.

“Anything?” Charles asks.

“Passports, some jewelry, paperwork, but no microchips.” Erik sorts through some of the papers, looking for anything relevant. “Nothing incriminating in here either.”

“Damn. I was hoping it’d be easy.”

“Me too.” They’ve only been here for three weeks, and already Erik feels suffocated, ready to get out. Life in suburbia is really not agreeing with him.

He shoves everything back into the safe and locks it up. “Back to square one then.”

“Yes.”

“Things would be so much easier if you could just glance through everyone’s minds and figure out who’s the mole.”  

“Yes, well,” Charles sighs, “when the mole is  _unwittingly_  taking part in a plot to steal government secrets, it gets a little harder to ferret out signs of guilt. So I suppose we’ll have to settle for spying the old fashioned way.”

“I wish old fashioned spying would go a little faster,” Erik grumbles.  

“Well, I, for one, am quite enjoying suburbia,” Charles replies. Arching an eyebrow, he adds, “Or are you not enjoying being married to me?”

“I’m already married to you,” Erik reminds him dryly.

“You know what I mean. It’s different here. We have a house and a neighborhood and a white picket fence and neighbors with kids and dogs. It’s like we’re a normal couple.”

“Normal couples are boring.”

A hint of frustration edges into Charles’s expression. “Aren’t you enjoying this at least a little bit?” he persists. “I mean, it’s at least a  _little_  nice, isn’t it?”

 _It’s boring,_ Erik wants to say, but something in Charles’s voice makes him bite those words back. Though they haven’t talked about it often, Erik knows that Charles doesn’t want to be with the agency forever. He wants to get out at some point and pursue other opportunities. Once, he’d confided in Erik that when he was a kid, he used to want to be a professor. Erik had nearly laughed — Charles, brilliant spy and agent, a  _professor?_ But he’d held back his smile because he’d seen that Charles was serious. Charles’s  _dream_  was serious.

This — the house in the suburbs, the white picket fence, the friendly neighborhood barbecues — this is part of Charles’s dream, too, Erik realizes. And his heart sinks a little.

“We don’t belong here,” Erik says lowly.

“No, we don’t.” Charles gives him a searching look. “But isn’t it nice to think that someday, maybe we could?”

Honestly, Erik’s never really given it much thought. He likes his work, likes the action and intrigue, likes working alongside Charles. Retirement is almost a foreign concept —  _almost_ , because ever since Charles brought it up, Erik  _has_ thought about it once or twice. But he’s always imagined it as being years away. Judging by the wistfulness in Charles’s voice, maybe it isn’t as far-off as Erik had expected.

He’s not sure what to say to that.

Charles sighs. “Never mind.”

Erik reaches for him. “Charles, wait — ”

They both hear the footsteps on the stairs at the same time. Before Erik can react, Charles seizes him and drags him into the closet. Just as they disappear into the racks of sweaters and coats, Mrs. Johnson and another man — Gary Nelson, who lives in the blue house down the street — stumble into the bedroom.

 _Why didn’t you nudge them away?_ Erik demands. The closet’s so small he’s practically pressed into Charles’s lap.

 _Their minds feel guilty,_ Charles replies.  _Maybe they have something to do with — oh._

_Oh?_

A sharp moan echoes through the bedroom, followed by the unmistakable sound of kissing.

Erik stifles a snort of laughter behind his hand. Even in the dim light of the closet, Charles is pink.

 _Aren’t you supposed to be a telepath?_ Erik asks, trying desperately not to grin.

 _I didn’t have time to delve deeply into their minds, all right?_ Charles grumbles.  _I didn’t even hear them come in, I was distracted by our conversation._

Erik has to admit he’d been distracted, too, or else he would’ve felt them come in.  _Well_ now _can you nudge them away?_  he asks, raising his eyebrows when Nelson lets out a particularly loud groan.  _Unless you want to listen to this?_

Charles closes his eyes and puts his fingers to his temple. A moment later, the grunts and gasps cut off, and Mrs. Johnson breathes out, “Did you hear that?”

“Yeah.”

There’s a mad scramble of noise, clothes rustling, belt buckles rattling, and then the two of them stagger back out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

“Ah,” Erik says once they’re gone, “suburban life. Just  _charming_.”

Charles rolls his eyes and extricates himself from a couple of NYU sweatshirts. “I get it — you hate the idea of settling down. It’s fine.”

He’s striving for casual, but Erik can hear the undercurrent of frustration and disappointment in his voice. Guilt stabbing through him, Erik grabs his wrist and pulls him back before he can leave the closet. “Hey, I’m sorry.”

“For what? Feeling how you feel?”

“For making light of how  _you_ feel,” Erik says. “I know…I know you’re tired of this life.” He’s been trying to ignore it, not wanting their perfect partnership to end, but somewhere deep down, he  _had_ known about Charles’s dissatisfaction with their career. He’d just been hoping it would go away if he pretended it didn’t exist.

Obviously not.  

“And yeah,” he continues, “I don’t care about suburbia. I don’t care about having neighbors or a white picket fence or a dog or whatever else. But I care about  _you_. And if this is what you want, then it’s what I want.”

Charles stares up at him like he’s never seen him before. “Really?”

“Really.”

Charles searches his face for another long moment before he burrows himself into Erik’s chest, radiating affection and gratefulness and happiness.  _Have I mentioned how much I love you lately?_

 _Not nearly often enough,_ Erik replies, hugging him tightly.

Charles laughs into his shoulder.

“But,” Erik says after a moment, “I get to choose what color our house is, and if we’re getting a dog, it’s going to be a big one, not one of those yappy monstrosities.”

Charles laughs again and nods. “Of course. And it’s not like I want us to quit the agency tomorrow and immediately move to New Jersey or something. We can take our time and think about this. I just want to know that we’ve got a future like this waiting for us when we get out.” He pulls back slightly to look up at Erik. “And I want us both to be happy about it.”

“I’ll learn to be happy about it,” Erik says. “I learned to be happy about  _you_ , didn’t I?”

“Shut up,” Charles laughs. “You loved me from the very start!”

It’s true, Erik thinks with an exasperated, fond shake of his head before reeling Charles in for a kiss. He did.  


	82. they run into erik's ex on a date AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for madneto for the prompt: "Why are you/we whispering?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [on tumblr here](http://ikeracity.tumblr.com/post/165188475384/cherik-43)

The date’s going pretty well, in Erik’s opinion. Charles is polite and interesting and witty. He isn’t intimidated when Erik disagrees with him, doesn’t get upset or angry. And he looks even better in person than he does in his Tinder profile picture, somehow. For the first time since Erik installed that stupid app, he thinks he might have actually met a good match. They’re halfway through dinner, and he hasn’t even glanced at his watch to check the time once. That’s a new record.

Even better, Charles seems to be enjoying himself, too. He hasn’t stopped smiling since dinner began, and Erik starts to think that this might actually go somewhere. He can’t deny that he’s excited at the prospect.

“If we’re talking about media from the last decade,” Charles says, picking at his pad thai, “then I think  _Land Down Under_ is probably the best mutant-centric movie I’ve seen.”

“It’s overrated,” Erik says.

“Overrated!”

“It’s got plot holes the size of Manhattan, and Tom Hardy is terrible in it. He didn’t deserve that Oscar.”

“How dare you!” Charles exclaims, though his indignation is ruined by the fact that he’s half-laughing. “It’s one of Tom Hardy’s best movies!”

“If anyone deserved to win an Oscar in that movie, it was Ororo Munroe,” Erik says. “She was phenomenal. And don’t you think it’s funny how in a movie by mutants for mutants starring mutants, the human supporting actor’s the one who wins the Oscar?”

“Well, I won’t deny that Hollywood still skews heavily human,” Charles says, “but I don’t think it’s fair to say Hardy didn’t deserve the Oscar. He put in an amazing performance. If anything, he  _and_  Munroe should’ve each won Oscars.”

“You know the only reason Munroe didn’t win was because Hollywood’s mutantphobic as fuck. And besides — ”

Behind Charles, the front door opens, and Erik glances instinctively up at whoever’s coming in. When he sees who it is, his whole body locks up, all coherent thought fleeing from his mind. “Oh shit,” he whispers, sinking down automatically in his seat.

Charles frowns and twists around, trying to follow his gaze. “What is it? Why are you whispering?”

“That’s my ex,” Erik whispers, praying Simon doesn’t turn and spot him.

“Your  _ex?”_

“We broke up two years ago.” Erik’s lip curls into a snarl at the memory of their messy breakup.

His heart skips a beat when Simon  _does_  turn, and then, horribly, their eyes meet. And then, even  _more_  horribly, Simon smiles and strolls over to them.

“Erik,” he says, his tone deceptively friendly. “It’s been forever.”

Charles stares over at Erik. For a moment, Erik’s afraid Charles is just going to back away and take his leave, not wanting to get involved in this mess. But then he feels a light pressure over his temple, and Charles’s voice slides warmly into his head.  _Is it all right if we speak like this?_

Erik restrains his surprise. They’d talked about Charles’s telepathy earlier, but Charles hadn’t actually gotten around to demonstrating it yet. Still, Erik’s never shied away from psionics like other people might — telepaths are mutants just like everybody else.  _Yeah, sure._

 _So,_ Charles says,  _am I correct in assuming we hate this guy?_

We. Erik almost smiles.  _Yes, we loathe his guts. He cheated on me and then dumped me when I confronted him about it._

_Asshole!_

Charles actually sounds genuinely angry. That makes Erik’s lips twitch, just a tiny bit.

“What?” Simon asks. “Cat got your tongue?”

“No,” Erik says coolly, “I was just debating the best way to tell you to fuck off.”

Simon gives him a wounded look. “That’s no way to greet an old friend.”

“You’re not an old friend,” Erik growls. “Quite the opposite, in fact.”

Simon frowns. His pale eyes flick over to Charles, who’s regarding him with cold curiosity. “Am I interrupting something here?” Simon asks, though it’s obvious from his tone that he knows full well what he’s interrupting.

“What the fuck do you want?” Erik demands.

Simon holds up both hands. “I was just getting dinner and I saw you and thought I’d reconnect with an old friend, that’s all. No need to be mean about it. If I’d known you were on a date, I wouldn’t have come over.” He glances over at Charles and smiles lazily. “Is this your first date? ’Cause if you haven’t noticed already, this guy — ” he claps Erik on the shoulder “ — has a temper. If I were you, I’d watch out for that.”

Rage surges up, hot and blinding. Erik actually contemplates stabbing his fork into Simon’s hand, but before he can, Charles says coolly, “I’ll thank you to take your hand off my fiancé.”

Erik nearly chokes. Simon stares. “Your what?”

“My fiancé,” Charles repeats. “You happen to be interrupting our anniversary dinner, so if you’d kindly be on your way.”

Simon darts a look at Erik. For the first time since Erik’s known him, he looks genuinely flabbergasted. “You’re — engaged?”

Erik stares back at him for a moment, then glances over to Charles, who’s smiling lovingly at him, his blue eyes soft and guileless. And suddenly, just like that, Erik feels steady again, his anger receding to manageable levels. Grinning with all his teeth, he looks up at Simon and says, “Yeah, so like Charles said, if you’d kindly fuck off, it’d be much appreciated.”

Simon removes his hand. His frown betrays a hint of frustration — whatever he’d been looking for when he’d come over here, he clearly hadn’t found it. “Well then. I know when I’m not welcome.”

Erik snorts. “You should’ve known it when I told you to fuck off the first time.”

“I see time hasn’t taught you any manners,” Simon sneers. “You’re as uncivilized as ever.”

“You cheated on him and then dumped him when he called you out on it,” Charles interjects. “You also interrupted our dinner. I don’t think you have any right to lecture anyone about civility.”

Simon’s face reddens. Before he can say anything though, Charles turns back to Erik. “Anyway, darling,” he says, reaching across the table to put his hand on Erik’s, “where were we before we were so rudely interrupted?”  

Erik can’t smother his grin. Simon is surprisingly easy to ignore when Charles is looking at Erik like this, his expression open and warm and inviting. “I think we were talking about wedding venues,” Erik says. “The beach, you said?”

Charles wrinkles his nose. “The beach? No way. Too much sand. I say we get married in Italy. My family has a beautiful villa there, right on the coast…” He trails off as Simon wheels around and stomps away. “Oh dear. I think we might have upset him.”

Erik can’t hold back a sharp, astonished laugh. “That was… _amazing_. Thank you.”

Charles grins and leans back in his chair. “No problem. That was fun. And he really  _was_  an asshole — he came over hoping to see you get flustered.”

“He’s such a prick,” Erik growls, glaring at Simon’s retreating back. “He hasn’t changed at all.”

“Well after tonight, he might think twice about trying something like this again. His ego took a little blow.”

“Did it?” Erik asks, deeply satisfied at the thought. “Good.” Tearing his eyes away from Simon, he looks back at Charles and laughs again. “Anyway, fuck Tom Hardy,  _you’re_  the one who deserves an Oscar. You nearly had  _me_  convinced.”

“Convinced of what?”

“Well, that you…” Erik flushes. “I mean, it seemed like you really liked me.”

“I  _do_  really like you.” Charles’s smile turns slightly shy. “I hope the fact that your ex showed up to our date hasn’t put you off me. I was rather hoping to ask you if you wanted to come home with me after dessert.”

Erik’s heart jumps. “I was going to…Yes. I want that.”

Charles beams. “Well then.” He lifts the dessert menu, then pauses. “Or…we could skip dessert?”

A man after Erik’s own heart. Grinning, Erik reaches for his wallet. “Let’s get out of here.”


	83. post-xma ficlet 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: "You're supposed to talk me out of this." 
> 
> post-xma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [on tumblr here](http://ikeracity.tumblr.com/post/165192435224/cherik-youre-supposed-to-talk-me-out-of-this)

It’s astonishing, how much the new house resembles the old. Even though Jean and Erik had worked off of old blueprints, and even though Charles had lent them his memory of each room and its shapes and contours, Charles is still amazed by how faithful their recreation is. And yet, in some ways, it’s different as well. Better. They have a proper training room in the basement now, reinforced with layers of steel and outfitted with the latest technology, courtesy of Hank. They have real classrooms, too, not just old parlors that have been repurposed. And there are three new elevators, and some of the hallways are wider and all wood, no carpet in sight. It all feels…fresh. Like a new beginning.

As the children wander around, rediscovering their home, Charles goes upstairs, partly because he wants to see what’s become of his old study, and partly because he senses Erik standing up there, alone. His mind has grown more distant and darker these last few days, the edges of his thoughts sharp and ragged. Without the work of rebuilding to distract him, Erik sinks deeper and deeper into grief.  

Charles hesitates outside the door, wondering if he should leave well enough alone. Before he can decide, the door swings open.

“I can feel you out there,” Erik says without turning around. He’s standing by one of the windows, a dark silhouette outlined by fading sunlight.

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted to be left alone.”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

 _I always knew what to say before,_ Charles thinks.  _Or at least I thought I knew. I don’t know how to fix this._

He keeps those thoughts to himself. Aloud, he says, “I’ll go if you want me to.”

For a long moment, Erik says nothing, just gazes out the window into the distance, his mind far, far away, untouchable. Charles aches for him.

At last, Erik twitches his fingers, and Charles’s chair nudges forward, crossing the threshold into the room. Charles wheels himself more fully in and closes the door.

It’s been ten years since they’ve been in this room together. Ten years since the last time Charles laid eyes on Erik. The pain of separation is an old one now, a familiar weight that Charles has long since learned to carry, and endure. But it never feels more acute than it does now, in moments of reunion.

Tearing his gaze away from Erik, he glances around the study. Like the rest of the house, much of it is the same — the tables, the armchairs, his desk, the bookshelves. But there are differences, too: the shelves are empty now, all his books scorched away; there are no paintings on the walls, only bare wood; and instead of his father’s expensive old rugs underfoot, there’s sturdy wood, easy on his wheels. He comes closer to the hearth and is surprised to see a chessboard on the table there.

“Jean’s idea,” Erik says, turning at last. His face is pale and drawn, his eyes weary. The energy that buoyed him through these last few weeks has dissipated. Charles has never seen him look so exhausted. “She said you were teaching some of the students how to play.”

“I was.” Charles runs his fingers along the edge of the chessboard. It’s not the students he’s thinking of, it’s Erik. Even after all this time, the memories are still so fresh and clear in his mind: long, endless evenings of just the two of them, twenty years younger, sitting right here in front of the hearth sharing a game and a drink together. His heart feels tight in his chest, like it’s beating against a fist intent on squeezing it into stillness.

 _Twenty years and he can still affect you like this_ , Charles thinks to himself.  _You will never be free of him, will you?_

There’s no bitterness in the thought, only resignation. That’s progress, isn’t it?

“The house is beautiful,” he says after a moment. “Thank you.”

“Jean deserves much of the credit. You taught her well.”

“She  _is_  wonderful, isn’t she?”

“Yes.”

A frisson of pain accompanies the word — Erik’s thinking, unwillingly, of his daughter, and how wonderful she would have been at Jean’s age. How bright and talented and beautiful.

Charles wants to speak, wants to ease his pain, but what can he say? He’s known grief in his life but not like this. Not an anguish as thoroughly devouring as Erik’s.

For a while, they remain together in silence, Erik lost in his own thoughts, Charles lost in watching him. It’s quiet and peaceful, as few things between them have been in the last twenty years. How long can this last? Charles wonders. How long before Erik leaves again, and takes a part of Charles with him?

He forces himself to ask, though he dreads the answer. “Now that the school has been rebuilt, what will you do?”

Erik glances at him. There’s an uncharacteristic hesitance in his eyes. After a long, painful moment, he says, “I was thinking I might stay.”

Charles stares at him, dumbfounded. “Stay? Stay here?”

“Only if you’d have me,” Erik says gruffly, glancing away again.

“Only if I’d — ” Charles can’t help the startled laugh that bursts out of him. “Erik, have you not realized I’ve been practically begging you to stay for the last eight weeks?”

Now it’s Erik’s turn to stare. “No. You’re supposed to talk me out of this. You’re supposed to tell me that it’s a terrible idea for a man accused of terrorism and assassination to be in a school full of children.”

“If you haven’t noticed,” Charles says, overflowing with sudden fondness for him, “the children feel safer with you around.” He pauses, then adds more softly, “ _I_  feel safer with you around.”

Erik snorts, but his eyes are gentler when he looks at Charles again. “Because you can keep an eye on me when I’m here.”

“Yes, there’s that, too,” Charles agrees. “If you’re going to cause disasters and national incidents, then at least I’ll have some advance warning.”

Erik doesn’t smile, but the jagged edges of his mind soften. He comes over and sinks down into the armchair beside Charles and, after a moment, reaches over and takes Charles’s hand. “Then I’ll stay.”

Charles’s heart is beating against that fist again, but this time, it’s joy filling his chest, not pain, not the weight of old memories, not anything else. Squeezing Erik’s hand, he murmurs, smiling, “Welcome home.” 


	84. harry potter AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: "Shut up, I am a delight!" 
> 
> Muggle-born Erik takes pureblood wizard Charles home for the holidays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [on tumblr here](http://ikeracity.tumblr.com/post/165245453799/46-cherik)

Growing up, Erik had never thought of his house as anything special. It’s small, cozy, and tidy, just the way his mother likes to keep it. They have pictures on the mantel, a mezuzah by the door, his mother’s paintings on the wall, houseplants on the windowsills, magazines and coasters on the coffee table — nothing out of the ordinary. It’s absolutely normal. Compared to Hogwarts, it’s practically  _boring_.

But ever since they arrived, Charles has been staring around at everything in utter fascination. He spent nearly five minutes studying the paintings on the wall, astonished by the fact that nothing in them moved. Now he’s flipping through the newspaper on the coffee table like he’s never seen one before in his life — and to be fair, Erik supposes, Charles hasn’t. Not a Muggle newspaper anyway.

“What’s this?” Charles asks, pointing.

“That’s a crossword,” Erik replies. Come to think of it, he’s never seen a crossword printed in  _The Daily Prophet_. It’s something so mundane he hadn’t really noticed. “I guess the wizarding world doesn’t have those.”  

“No, I don’t think so.” Charles peers at it closely. “What is it?”  

“It’s a word puzzle. You fill in the boxes according to the numbered clues up here. See?”

Charles scans over the first clue and frowns. “What’s a Beyoncé?”

Erik laughs and tugs the newspaper out of his hands. “There’s a lot of pop culture references in there you probably won’t get. Come on, I’ll show you my room.”

He leads Charles upstairs to his bedroom and shows him where he can put his trunk. “There’s just the one bed,” Erik says, “so you can sleep there and I’ll take the couch.”

Charles glances around. “The couch?”

“In the living room,” Erik clarifies.

“In the living room!”

“What else were you expecting?”

“Well I thought…” Charles pauses, blushing.  

“You thought my house would be bigger on the inside than it looked on the outside, didn’t you?” Erik asks wryly. He’s seen the sort of storage miracles that Charles and everyone else in the wizarding world takes for granted. No doubt Charles had expected him to open up a hatch in his closet so they could climb down into an enormous mansion half the size of Hogwarts.

“Well…yes.” Charles winces. “I’m sorry, that must seem insensitive. Your house is very nice.”  

“Don’t be sorry.” Erik had already known Charles would be baffled by a variety of things about the house. It’s Charles’s first time in a Muggle home, after all, and really his first time venturing into the Muggle world period. Erik’s looking forward to introducing Charles to everything Muggle, just as Charles had introduced him to everything magical in their first year.

Erik pushes his own trunk under the bed and then flops down onto it. “You can look around if you want.”

Charles is already picking things up off of Erik’s desk in the corner. “What’s this?”

“That’s a stapler.”

“What’s it do?”

“It attaches papers together.” Erik pushes up off the bed and takes the stapler from Charles. “See, like this.”

Charles examines the stapled papers with amazement, then insists on stapling a bunch of things together himself. Erik gives him some loose papers to mess around with and laughs as Charles staples everything with increasing delight.

“If you get this excited over a stapler, I can’t wait to see you have a meltdown over everything else,” Erik says, grinning.

“I’m hardly going to have a  _meltdown_ ,” Charles sniffs. “This is all very new to me, that’s all, and I like trying new things.” He picks up a stack of sticky notes off of Erik’s desk. “What’s this?”

Erik spends the next twenty minutes explaining various office supplies to Charles, who’s endlessly captivated by all of them. He’s just finished showing Charles how dry erase markers work when he hears the garage rumble open, and his heart leaps.

“Come on,” he says, pulling Charles up from where they’d been sitting on the floor, “my mum’s home.”

“Oh! All right.” Charles fidgets with his collar. “Is my tie straight?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Erik grabs his wrist and tugs him out the door and down the stairs.

His mother’s breezing in through the back door when they get downstairs, and her eyes light up when she spots them. “Erik!”

It’s been  _far_  too long since he’s last seen her. Letting go of Charles, he wraps his mother up in a tight bear hug, squeezing her until she laughs and wheezes at him to let her down. “Hello, Mama.”

“What have you been eating?” she demands, glancing at him from head to toe. “I think you’ve shot up another inch or two since the last time I saw you.” Without waiting for an answer, she looks past Erik’s shoulder, her grin softening. “You must be Charles.”

Charles is always outgoing and friendly and eager to meet new people, but he’s practically shy now as he extends a hand in greeting. “Hello, Mrs. Lehnsherr. Pleased to meet you.”

Erik’s mother bypasses his hand and comes in for a hug instead, patting him on the back. “No need to be so formal, dear, just call me Edie. How long have you two been home? Did Erik get you all settled? Are you hungry?”

“Yes, er — we’ve been here for a couple of hours, and I put my stuff in Erik’s room. And I could do with a snack, I suppose, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

“It’s no trouble at all! Let me just get my coat off and I’ll fix you boys something.”

She hangs her coat up on the coatrack and bustles away into the kitchen. At the slightly dazed look on Charles’s face, Erik laughs. “Yeah, she’s a force of nature. Come on.”

It’s late enough that his mother starts to fix dinner instead of just a snack, and by seven, they’re all seated around the dining table, digging in. Erik divides his time between savoring his first home-cooked meal in months and watching Charles enthusiastically sample his first ever cholent.

“It’s  _delicious_ ,” Charles says about five times as he devours his helping. Erik’s mother gives him seconds, and he polishes that off, too, with the same amount of enthusiasm.

“Don’t forget to save some room for dessert,” Erik’s mother laughs as she watches Charles scrape the bottom of his bowl.

“Don’t worry, Charles eats enough for five people,” Erik tells her. “I’m pretty sure the house elves hate him.”

Charles shoots him a wounded look. “They do not!”

“I heard it myself,” Erik teases. “Overheard them talking about how you were going to singlehandedly eat us out of house and home.”

Charles kicks him under the table. “You are such a liar.”

Smothering his grin, Erik says, “I wouldn’t blame them for feeling that way. I mean, leaving aside the bottomless appetite thing, you’ve got loads of other vices. You actually like astronomy, you won’t shut up about how cool Potions is even though it’s  _boring_ , you’re always forgetting your scarf and stealing mine — ”

“Shut up!” Charles exclaims. “I am a  _delight!”_

He kicks at Erik again, pouting, and Erik laughs.

After dinner, he and his mother clean up in the kitchen. When Charles tries to help, they send him over to the living room to pick out a movie for them to watch. Once they’re alone, his mother leans over and says lowly, “I can see why you like him so much.”

Erik glowers at her. “Don’t say a  _word_  to him.”

“About what?” she says slyly. “About how you’re completely, head-over-heels in love with him?”

He should  _never_  have told his mother about his feelings for Charles.  _Never_. “ _Mama,_ ” he hisses.

Laughing, his mother pats his arm. “Don’t worry, dear, I won’t say anything. But know that I approve.”

Blushing, Erik mutters, “Thanks.”

“And for what it’s worth,” his mother continues, “I think he likes you, too.”

Erik’s heart skips a beat. He stops scrubbing at the dishes and darts a look over to Charles, who has about ten DVDs in his lap already and is in the process of tugging more off the shelf. “You think so?”

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

“Really?”

“Really.” His mother bumps him away from the sink with her hip. “Go, entertain him. I’ll finish cleaning.”

Wiping his hands on the kitchen towel, Erik obediently heads out to the living room. Charles glances up when he comes over and smiles when Erik sits down next to him. “What was that all about?”

“What?”

“All that whispering with your mother.”

“It’s a Muggle thing,” Erik says. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Charles shoves at his shoulder, rolling his eyes. “You’re such a prat.”

Erik laughs and leans into him. After a moment, his heart thumping hard in his chest, he says, “I’ll tell you later.”

“Promise?”

Erik desperately wants to kiss that soft smile right off his face.  _Later,_ he tells himself.  _Hopefully._ “Promise.”


	85. arranged marriage AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: "Are you drunk?" 
> 
> Erik realizes he's fallen in love with his husband from an arranged marriage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [on tumblr here](http://ikeracity.tumblr.com/post/165522766219/sorry-if-this-is-too-late-for-the-prompt-meme)

Emma came and found him sitting on the third-floor balcony of the villa, staring moodily down at the lawn below where several nobles yelled and laughed as they played a game of kickball. It was a hot day, and as the sun climbed higher in the sky, the meager shade that the silk awning above him offered was no longer quite enough, but Erik had no desire to move. Instead, he just sipped at his drink and glared down at the game, feeling sullen and annoyed.

“Are you drunk?” Emma asked as she took a seat next to him. Unlike him, she seemed utterly unbothered by the heat. Not that that was a surprise—very few things could perturb her, and the weather certainly wasn’t one of them.  

“Don’t be crass,” Erik muttered. “It’s hardly noon.”

“And yet, I can smell that Genoshan whiskey from ten feet away,” she said dryly.

Erik glowered at her. “Am I not allowed to indulge every once in a while?”

She lounged back against her chair, ignoring his glare. “If you were only indulging, I would hardly take issue with it. But you’re moping as well, and really, pining suits you poorly, my king.”

She said  _my king_  the way she always did—with a slight, mocking edge that never failed to make him grit his teeth. “Don’t insult me,  _my lady_ ,” he growled. “I’m hardly moping.”

“Yes, you are.” She followed his gaze down to the lawn and heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Why don’t you tell the boy you love him already?”

“I don’t.”

Emma laughed sharply. “Half the court knows it, and the other half suspects it. The only one who doesn’t seem to know is young Lord Xavier himself—and you, of course.”

She was wrong about that—Erik  _did_  know. It was part of why he’d taken to drinking so heavily these last couple of weeks. The hot, uncomfortable feelings that welled up in his chest every time he looked at Charles were impossible to ignore, and even more impossible to fight away. At least alcohol made their intensity more bearable.

“Ah,” Emma said knowingly.

“Don’t read my mind,” Erik snapped.

“I didn’t have to,” she sniffed. “Your face tells the whole story. So, explain to me why you haven’t said anything to him yet.”

“Because our marriage was one of political expediency, nothing more.” And Erik had promised, that night of their wedding, not to force any of the traditional matrimonial obligations onto Charles. They were political allies. That was the beginning and the end of it.

He took another long, irritated swallow of whiskey. “He clearly has no feelings for me, so I’m hardly willing to burden him with mine.”

Emma gave him a withering look. “I knew you were dense, but I didn’t know you were  _this_  foolish. Or have you not noticed that your young lordling is, in fact, madly in love with you?”

Erik blinked, his aggravation temporarily forgotten. “What?”

“He’s been pining for you for so long even  _I’m_ starting to take pity on him.” Emma heaved another sigh. “Perhaps you  _are_  meant for each other—both blind as cave bats.”

“What are you talking about?” Erik demanded. “He’s taken other lovers. That guardsman, the other lordling from Baresh…” The memory of them made Erik’s gut clench in jealousy.

“Not lovers,” Emma said.

“I know what I saw.”

“You saw them in bed together?” When Erik glared at her, she said coolly, “I have it on good authority that his little dalliances have been attempts to draw your attention. He engaged in a bit of harmless flirtation with them, nothing more.”

Erik snorted. “And what good authority would this be?”

“Why, from the lordling himself.”

Startled out of his surliness, Erik stared at her. “He told you that?”

“He seems to believe I have some sway over you. Gods know what gave him that idea—you hardly ever listen to me.”

Erik hardly heard her. “He  _told_  you that?”

“He asked me what I thought you thought of him,” she said with a small, coolly amused smile. “He told me enough.”

Erik glanced back down to the lawn where Charles was leaning against Lord Cassidy’s son, laughing at something someone had said. He drained the rest of his whiskey in one gulp and stood. “It seems I have business to attend to.”

Emma smirked. “It seems so.”

*

He caught Charles as he was coming off the lawn. His grin widened when he saw Erik standing there, and he came forward, scrubbing a hand through his sweat-damp hair. “My lord!”

“Who won?” Erik asked.

“We did,” Charles said happily. “I noticed you watching from the balcony, my lord. I hope we were sufficiently entertaining.”

“You were.” Erik nodded at the path leading toward the villa’s side gardens. “Walk with me?”

“Of course.” Charles fell in beside him. As they drew out of earshot of the others, he shot a furtive look at Erik and said, “I noticed Lady Emma on the balcony with you as well.”

“Yes. We had quite an…enlightening conversation.”

“Oh?”

Erik didn’t think he was mistaking the note of nervous hope in Charles’s voice. He waited until they’d strolled into the relatively private lanes of the gardens before murmuring, “About the terms of our marriage—I thought, perhaps, that we might revisit them.”

Charles stopped, his eyes wide. “What are you saying, my lord?”

“I am saying…I wanted to…” Erik stopped, too, and gritted his teeth in frustration. He was a king, a steel-willed diplomat, a seasoned campaigner, and yet here he was, fumbling with his words like some love-addled boy. Which, he supposed, he  _was_ , in a way. It was an unflattering thought.

“I’ve been told,” he said at last, stiffly, “that you are in love with me.”

He realized the tactlessness of his delivery immediately—eyes widening, Charles started to stammer out an apology. Erik cut him off with a sharp shake of his head. “Don’t apologize.”

Charles bit his lip. “I know we agreed at the beginning—we said that—”

“I’m in love with you, too,” Erik interrupted.

“…What?”

He looked so thunderstruck that Erik couldn’t help but laugh. “I believe I had the same reaction when Emma told me you were madly in love with me.”

Charles blushed. “She said that?”

“She also said those dalliances of yours were attempts to catch my attention.”

Charles’s blush deepened, charmingly. “I suppose I was at a loss on how to do so, my lord. It seems foolish, in hindsight. You hardly seemed to notice at all.”

Erik raised his eyebrows incredulously. “Is that what you think? I thought for sure that you would notice my jealousy, though I tried to hide it.”  

Charles gave him a slow, delighted smile. “You were jealous?”

“More than I believed I could be.”  

“And how long have you loved me?”

“For months, probably,” Erik admitted, “but I only just realized it.”

“Well then…” Charles stepped in closer and took hold of Erik’s shirt, drawing him closer. He radiated warmth, joy, and affection—no,  _love._ “I suppose we should make up for lost time?”

Looking down into Charles’s freckled, smiling face, Erik had the curious sense that he was seeing Charles again for the first time. His heart thrummed in his chest like a frantic, wild bird, and he allowed himself to give into the urge he’d been fighting for weeks now—he took Charles’s face in his hands, bent down, and kissed him.


	86. modern AU planning a wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for gerec for the prompt: "Why does anybody have to be naked?" 
> 
> Raven plans Charles and Erik's wedding. Or tries to, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [on tumblr here](http://ikeracity.tumblr.com/post/165637448294/50-charleserik-or-charles-raven-d)

Charles tries not to rub at his temples. He’s done it so often over the last hour that the skin there is starting to get sore. “Sorry to interrupt, but can we revisit the photoshoot idea?”  

Raven, who’d been breezing through her hand-drawn schematics of the wedding cake, stops and glares at him. “Really? I asked if you had any questions on that ten minutes ago, and you didn’t say anything.”

 _That’s because I’m hungover and my brain feels like mush_ , Charles thinks peevishly. But he doesn’t say it aloud because he knows it’ll only irritate her further; all week she’s been looking forward to unveiling all her preliminary plans for the wedding, and she’d only take the fact that he and Erik had stayed up late last night slurping down jello shots and making out like sloppy teenagers as a sign of utter disrespect for her work and her vision.

Across the table, Erik gives him a pained smile. Clearly he’s thinking along the same lines.

“Sorry,” Charles says meekly, “but explain it to me again. Why does anyone have to be  _naked?”_

Raven harrumphs and paws through her notes. “Weren’t you listening at all? The nudity represents your openness with each other, your willingness to be vulnerable and raw and totally authentic.”

“I  _am_  willing to be vulnerable and raw and totally authentic,” Charles says, “but only with Erik. Not with the entire wedding party!”

“I’m surprised you’re so against this. Remember how you used to have trouble keeping your clothes  _on_  in college?”

“Yes,” Charles says, rolling his eyes, “I was a total slut in college, there’s no denying that, but that was only in the privacy of the  _bedroom_ , not in a newlywed photoshoot that’s going to be splashed about on Facebook!”

“I have to agree with Charles,” Erik interjects. “If we  _have_  to do a photoshoot, can’t we just do the traditional one with the two of us in our tuxedos in a field somewhere while someone throws flowers over us or some shit?”

Raven bristles. “I thought you guys wanted me to plan you the wedding of the  _decade_. Not some boring, unoriginal crap that’s been done ten thousand times!”

Charles refrains from reminding her that she’d insisted on being their wedding planner, even after Charles had gently tried to dissuade her from the idea. He’d suspected something like this would happen — Raven’s avant-garde photography work bleeds over into every single aspect of her life. It was inevitable, really, that she’d come up with something like this.

“Darling, I love your creativity, I really do,” Charles says. “But might I remind you that neither Erik nor I share your comfort with nudity in front of the camera?”

“Erik was an underwear model in college,” Raven says flatly.

“Everything important was covered,” Erik points out.

“You modeled  _thongs_  once! I’ve probably seen just as much of your ass as Charles has!”

Charles gives in to the urge to rub his temples. He wishes he’d taken some aspirin before Raven had come over.

“Can we nix the naked photoshoot idea and do literally anything else?” he asks finally.

Raven frowns at him, eyes narrowed. Eventually, she mutters, “Fine. I’ll brainstorm some more on that. Let’s just move on to your wedding cake for now. Now, I realize it’s going to be kind of an engineering feat to make the whole cake look like a giant magnet but — ”

 _Remind me again why we aren’t eloping?_ Erik asks, shooting Charles an unamused look.

 _Because Raven would kill me,_ Charles replies sagely,  _and your mother would kill you_.

_Good point._

_I’m sorry I agreed to let Raven plan our wedding though,_ Charles sighs.  _Thank you for being patient. I’ll make it up to you later._

Erik grins wickedly.  _Like this?_

He projects his suggestion in filthy, vivid detail. Charles blushes and coughs into his fist to hide his surprised intake of breath.

Raven stares at him, annoyed. “What? Don’t tell me you want to argue about the flower arrangements, too. They’re normal and boring, which is apparently exactly what you want.”  

“Raven, dear, would you mind terribly if we cut things short today?” Charles asks. “I promise we can go over the rest tomorrow.”

She scowls. “Why?”  

“Because I’m about to fuck your brother on the kitchen floor,” Erik says calmly.

Somehow, even under her blue scales, Raven goes scarlet red. “Jesus  _Christ_ , you two, have you been mind-fucking this entire time? What the  _fuck!_  I’m trying to design your fucking dream wedding here, not that either of you cares, apparently!” She shoves her notes into her folder and stands up so quickly the chair nearly topples over. “I’m going home. Call me when you’re ready to be serious about  _your own fucking wedding_.”

Neither of them says a word as she storms out, slamming the door behind her. As soon as she’s gone though, Charles dissolves into helpless laughter. “Did you  _have_ to put it so bluntly?”

“Was she ever going to leave otherwise?” Erik asks, getting up from the chair and coming over to Charles’s side. With a flick of his fingers, he tugs Charles’s wheelchair out from under the table and climbs into his lap, straddling him. “Now I believe you said something about making things up to me? And after everything I had to listen to in the last hour, you fucking owe me a  _lot_.”

Charles laughs and palms his ass. “I’m sorry. I knew she’d get overzealous about wedding planning, but I didn’t think she’d propose a naked photoshoot in the forest.”

“How about we put on a naked photoshoot in the bedroom?” Erik asks, arching an eyebrow.

Charles grins salaciously, all thoughts of disastrous wedding planning flying out of his head. “That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day.”


	87. modern AU charles plays murderball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for jackyjango for the prompt: "Don't call me that!" 
> 
> Charles plays murderball and catches the attention of a very hot man at the gym.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [on tumblr here](http://ikeracity.tumblr.com/post/165885567444/9-and-cherik-you-have-a-great-day-mate)

About halfway through the third quarter while Charles is taking a breather on the sidelines, Raven scoots up into the bleachers just behind him and says, “Don’t look now, but that sexy DILF is back and he’s watching you again.”

Resisting the mighty urge to sneak a glance over at the gym doors, Charles wipes some sweat from his forehead and says nonchalantly, “Oh? I didn’t notice.”

Raven snorts. “Don’t try to play it cool, lover boy, I know you noticed the instant he walked in.”

“Don’t call me that,” Charles sniffs. He doesn’t argue her point though — he  _had_ noticed the man the moment he’d appeared, a little over ten minutes ago. It was part of the reason why Charles had lost control of the ball and nearly cost his team the lead, though he’ll never admit that aloud.

Honestly though, how can he be expected to focus when such a tall, lean, gorgeous stranger is staring at him from the sidelines? And not just staring at him —  _thinking_  about him, about how beautifully muscled his arms are, about how joyful and commanding he seems on the court, about how his hands look powerful and competent and probably very good at holding someone down and —

 _Honestly,_ Charles thinks peevishly,  _can’t he tell he’s being bloody distracting?_ Then, more charitably, he reasons,  _Well, he can’t help it, can he? It’s not as if he knows you’re a telepath._

“Xavier!”

He glances up to see Logan waving impatiently at him. “Penny’s off, you’re on. Come on!”

“I’ll keep an eye on him for you,” Raven says with a smirk.

Rolling his eyes, Charles tosses his water bottle back into his bag and wheels forward onto the court.

The match ends eight to seven in their favor, with Charles assisting on the winning goal. Afterwards, he’s swept up in several minutes of team celebrations and friendly chatter with their opponents, and by the time he finally excuses himself, he’s sure the handsome stranger will have left. The man is always gone by the time Charles looks for him after the final whistle. But when he glances over toward the door today, he’s startled to find the stranger still there, though he’s not looking at Charles, or anyone else in particular.

Heart jumping, he wheels over to where Raven’s sitting and grabs a hand towel from his bag to wipe the sweat off his face. Smirking, Raven says, “I’m pretty sure he’s waiting for you. Probably got tired of just staring at you all the time.”

“I’ll just go over and introduce myself,” Charles says. “Don’t worry, I won’t take long.”

Raven shakes her head. “Take your time. I was planning on going upstairs anyway; Irene’s up in the weight room.” She hops off the bleachers. “Just text me if you end up going home with Mr. Sexy DILF, okay? So I know to call 911 if you vanish off the face of the earth.”

Charles rolls his eyes. “If I get his number, you have to stop calling him that.”

Raven grins. “No promises.”

Once she’s gone, Charles checks his appearance using his phone screen, combs down his hair with his fingers, and then coasts over to where his not-so-secret admirer is standing at the end of the bleachers. The man watches him approach, a bit of nervousness flitting along the edges of his mind. That makes Charles like him a little more.  

“Hi,” he says, pulling to a stop a few feet away.

“Hi,” the man replies. He has a lovely, deep voice that Charles likes instantly.

“Thought I’d come over and say hello,” Charles says with his most charming smile. Sticking out his hand, he adds, “I’m Charles.”

The man’s hand is warm and strong around Charles’s. “Erik.”

“Nice to meet you, Erik. So are you a fan of wheelchair rugby?”

Erik’s eyebrows tick upward. “Is that what it’s called?”

Charles laughs. “You’ve come to our last four games, so I assumed you had at least some idea of what you were watching.”

“I got the gist of it after a few quarters.”

“The rules aren’t too hard to pick up,” Charles agrees. “So do you normally just hang around here to watch rec sports or…?”

“No, my kids have taekwondo lessons here on Thursday nights.”

So Raven was right, Erik  _is_  a father. Charles smiles. “How old are your kids?”

“Nine. They’re twins.”

“Ah.”

There’s a brief, slightly awkward silence, both of them trying to figure out what to say next. Discomfort ripples across Erik’s mind, and he backs away a step. “I should go.”

“No, wait, please.” Charles wheels forward a pace, then stops, not wanting Erik to feel cornered. “I don’t mean to be too forward, but I’ve noticed you looking at me these last few weeks, and I just wanted to say I’m interested in you, too. If you’re interested me.”

Erik stares down at Charles for a long, frozen moment. Then he sighs, shoulders slumping slightly. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I haven’t been with anyone since my ex-wife, and I don’t really know how to go about…” He gestures vaguely.

“Asking someone out?” Charles suggests.

“Yes, that.”

“Well, you usually start by asking me if I want to get a coffee or dinner sometime.”

Erik smiles. “Would you like to get a coffee or dinner sometime?”

“Dinner,” Charles says. “Tomorrow?”

“How about Saturday? I’ll need to get a babysitter.”

“Of course.” Charles grins. “See? Not so hard.”

“That wasn’t as nerve-wracking as I imagined,” Erik admits. He pulls a slip of paper out of his pocket—a business card, Charles realizes, with a handwritten number on the back of it. “I was thinking about just dropping this in your gym bag, but your friend kept eyeing me and I wasn’t sure if you and she were…”

“That’s my sister,” Charles says with a laugh. “Don’t worry about her—she approves of you.”

“She does?”

“Well, she thinks you’re hot.”

“That’s nice.” Erik raises an eyebrow. “Do you?”

As if that were in question! “I think you’re bloody gorgeous.”

Erik grins, clearly pleased. “The feeling’s mutual.”

“Well then.” Charles leans forward and plucks the card from Erik’s fingers. “Shall I text you later for details?”

Erik nods. “Please.”

Charles hesitates, then says, “I should tell you something before anything happens. I’m a mutant. Telepath, to be precise.”

To his surprise, Erik doesn’t seem thrown at all by the revelation. He just nods and says, “I know.” At Charles’s quizzical look, he explains, “You mentioned it in an interview you gave for the rec center newsletter a few weeks ago. I usually don’t read the newsletter, but it was on the page right across from the taekwondo news and…”

“And you were interested so you started coming to our games,” Charles realizes. He can’t help the slow, delighted smile that spreads across his face. “I’m flattered.”

A faint blush rises to Erik’s cheeks. Charles finds it utterly charming. “Anyway,” Erik says, a bit gruffly, “I really should go. The taekwondo class ends in ten minutes.” After a pause, he adds, “See you Saturday?”

Charles smiles. “It’s a date.”  


	88. tinder AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for acherik for the prompt: “It’s 8:30, I have a hangover and you’re annoying me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [on tumblr here](http://ikeracity.tumblr.com/post/166156749399/20-with-cherik)

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” Charles pesters. “Pancakes will make you feel better.”

With a groan, Raven buries her face deeper into the couch pillow. “It’s 8:30, I have a hangover, and you’re annoying me. Go away.”

Charles rolls his eyes. He’d  _told_ Raven she’d regret those last couple of shots last night, and had she listened? Of course not. “Fine. There’s Advil and water on the table. Do try not to die please, it would be horribly inconvenient.”

Raven laughs, then moans when a pang of pain lances through her head. “I hate you,” she grumbles into the pillow. “Go, enjoy brunch. Tell Moira I said hi.”

“All right. I’ll see you later then.”

He’s about halfway to the café when his phone pings. It’s Moira with a text —  _So sorry but I’m having the migraine from hell. Raincheck?_

Migraine from hell. Charles snorts and, at a stoplight, texts back,  _Hangover from hell, you mean?_

That gets him a curt,  _Shut up,_ followed by several angry faces in a row. Laughing, Charles sends back,  _Take some Advil,_ and adds a smiley face before tossing his phone into the passenger seat.

Well, he’s already halfway to the café, and he’s starving. It’ll just have to be a solo venture then, given that both his brunch partners have thoroughly incapacitated themselves.

Thankfully, there’s no asshole illegally parked in the handicap spot, so Charles doesn’t have any problems finding a space. After transferring over to his chair, he locks his car and wheels his way up the ramp to the diner, smiles when a girl on the way out holds the door for him, and rolls into the warmth of the café.    

It’s one of his favorite places for brunch, partly because the food is excellent and partly because it’s fully accessible. He’s never had any trouble navigating between the tables here, and the staff is always friendly and accommodating. This morning, the café’s relatively crowded, so Charles wanders around for a little while before he spots an empty table in the back corner. But when he wheels closer, he realizes the table’s not empty — there’s a man sitting by the wall, coffee in one hand, a book in the other. Charles is just about to turn away when he realizes — he knows that man.

It’s Erik.  

He freezes in place, torn between eagerly saying hello and withdrawing without catching Erik’s attention. He has no idea how Erik would react to seeing him here. Yes, they’ve spent the last two weeks having the most scintillating conversations via text, but they still haven’t met in person yet. Not for lack of trying — Charles has asked a couple of times, and Erik’s asked once, but their schedules have been at odds.

And now here Erik is, in the flesh. Somehow he looks even better in person than he had in his Tinder photos.

After a brief deliberation, Charles decides to just go for it. Stopping at the edge of Erik’s table, he asks, “Is this seat taken?”

Erik glances briefly up at him and shakes his head. And then he turns back to his book.

Charles is too surprised by the quick dismissal to say anything for a moment. Refusing to be discouraged though, he clears his throat and says, “How are you doing today?”  

Rather than giving Charles a closer look like Charles had hoped, Erik continues to stare down at his book and says with a hint of irritation, “Fine.”

It’s clear he’s in no mood to talk. But maybe he hasn’t realized yet that Charles isn’t some random stranger looking for a bit of morning flirtation. After a pause, Charles asks, “What are you reading?”

“Look,” Erik says, glaring over the top of his book, “I’m not interested, okay?”

There — he’s definitely looked Charles full in the face now, but his expression doesn’t soften. He radiates annoyance, and the not-so-silent wish to just be left alone. Taken aback, Charles can do nothing but stare at him. This is  _not_  what he’d imagined meeting Erik for the first time would be like.

An insidious thought worms its way into his mind. “Is it the wheelchair?” he asks stiffly. Had Erik taken one look at it and decided to pretend he was never really interested? It wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened.

Now Erik puts his book down, frowning. “What are you talking about?” He scans Charles over, noting the wheelchair, and then looks back up at Charles’s face.

And then Charles realizes that Erik doesn’t  _recognize_  him. “It’s me,” he says, surprised, “it’s Charles.”

At that, Erik’s eyes widen, shock flashing through his mind. “Wait — Charles as in Charles from Tinder?”

“Yes.” Charles laughs, relieved. “Oh, I thought you recognized me!”

“No, you’re…” Erik squints at him. “You look different.”

Charles supposes he does — he’s wearing his thick-rimmed glasses today, his hair is messy, and he’s wearing a sweatshirt and jeans, not the form-fitting shirts on display on his Tinder profile. In hindsight, he can see how Erik might not have connected the dots right away.

“I hope not  _too_  different,” Charles says, a bit tentatively.

Erik shakes his head. “No, you look — you look good.” When he waves his hand, the metal chair across from him pulls away and slides into the corner. “Do you want to join me?”

Reassured, Charles smiles and slots himself into the space across from Erik. “I thought…I thought you might have seen the chair and decided you wanted nothing to do with me.”

Erik wrinkles his nose. “You really think I’m that shallow? Though I have to admit, it’s a surprise. You didn’t mention it in your profile.”

“I try to bring it up before meeting people for the first time, but we haven’t been able to find a time to meet so…” Charles sighs. “I’m sorry for not mentioning it.”

Erik’s eyes rove over Charles’s face, surprise still rippling through his thoughts. It’s clear that seeing Charles here was possibly the last thing he’d expected to happen today, but at least he’s not upset or too nervous about it. He’s just…curious.

“I’m sorry for being an asshole earlier,” Erik says after a moment. “I’m just kind of pissed off about work and I came here to relax, so I wasn’t in the mood to talk to strangers.”

“That’s all right. If you’d like to be alone, I can go.”

“No,” Erik says quickly. “I’d like…” He glances down at the cup in his hand, then over at Charles. “Can I buy you a coffee?”

Charles beams. “Yes.”

*

Later, much later, he’s lying sweaty and sated in Erik’s bed with Erik nuzzling up against his throat, his hand roaming possessively down Charles’s side. When Charles laughs softly, Erik raises his head and asks, “What?”

“Nothing.” Charles runs his hand fondly through Erik’s hair. “This just isn’t what I was expecting when I went to get breakfast this morning, that’s all.”

“A pleasant surprise, I hope?”

“ _More_  than pleasant.”  

“Good.” Erik kisses his neck. “Can I take you out to dinner tonight?”

It seems a little backwards, going out to dinner after they’ve already gone to bed together, but honestly, Charles doesn’t mind it. Erik’s hot, funny, unexpectedly sweet, and witty, all things Charles finds irresistible. Wherever this is going, he’s eager to find out, and dinner sounds like a good start.

“Yes,” he says, kissing Erik’s cheek, “I’d love that.”  


	89. erik is a werewolf AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for autheane and nyxira for the prompt: "I’ve been buying the wrong (size) underwear."
> 
> There's a werewolf living on Charles's estate and Charles is determined to meet him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [on tumblr here](http://ikeracity.tumblr.com/post/166304940904/for-the-prompt-thing-could-you-do-the-12-one-with)

There was a werewolf living at the old family house on Graymalkin Lane. Or, more accurately, it was living in the thick, sprawling forest behind the manor, which it now evidently considered its territory, despite the staff’s attempts to root it out.

Raven laughed when Charles told her about it. “Ha ha, very funny. And let me guess, there’s a vampire living in the attic and you’ve got zombies in the basement.”

“I’ve seen it,” Charles insisted. “Glimpsed it anyway. It’s huge, Raven. And you can hear it howling at night. It terrifies the dogs.”

Raven gave him an unimpressed look over the piece of toast she was buttering. “Well if you’ve heard howling, then maybe you should call animal control. It might be a real wolf out there, and you don’t want it so close to the house.”

“Hollis already did. They didn’t find anything.”

“There you go then.”

“But Hollis thinks there’s a wolf out there, too,” Charles argued, “and he’s been groundskeeper here for twenty years. You know he knows what he’s talking about.”

“I’ll believe it’s a wolf,” Raven replied, “but what makes you think it’s a  _werewolf?_ Are you watching that god-awful Vampire Diaries show again?”

“Well, I…” Charles hesitated, then finished lamely, “Just a feeling.”

Raven rolled her eyes. “You really need to come back down to the city, Charles. The fresh air out here is nice, but I think you’re going stir-crazy. Hank’s dying to see you, you know. He keeps trying to talk science to Alex, but you know Alex thinks his lab work is boring as shit. And next week’s Halloween, it’d be so fun if you could come down and we could have a party like we always do…”

Her words wavered, faded out. He poked listlessly at his toast, not quite listening anymore. These days he had trouble focusing when people talked to him about “normal” life — school, classes, lab work, parties, his old friends and colleagues. Things weren’t  _normal_  anymore. They wouldn’t ever be normal again, and sometimes that thought was so heavy it was nearly impossible to breathe.

“…Charles?”

He snapped back to attention. “Hmm? What?”

He could feel Raven’s sadness, though she kept her expression cheerful and bright. “I was just saying,” she said more quietly, “that I think it would be good for you to come back to Manhattan for a little bit. Even just for a weekend. What do you think?”

He wasn’t ready. That was what he thought. But he didn’t want to worry her so he smiled and said, “I’ll think about it.”

Disappointment flickered at the edges of her mind, but she smiled back. “Great.”

After she left, he sat at the breakfast table alone for a while, scrolling through his emails on his phone. His inbox had gotten considerably less crowded since he’d taken medical leave, and the  _get well soon, Professor!_ emails had gradually slowed to a stop, too. That was a relief — he was getting really fucking sick of reading those.

After a while, he got bored of browsing the news and decided to take himself over to the library. Miraculously, he managed not to clip his fingers on the narrow doorframe of the library entrance, which was a first. Maybe he was actually starting to get the hang of this wheelchair thing.

He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the thought.

He spent the day reading. There wasn’t really anything else he wanted to do, and though some of the staff had offered to keep him company whenever he wanted it, he didn’t like bothering them. At some point, the dogs wandered in to say hello, and that did make him a little happier, rubbing their ears and thumping their sides and getting drooled on.

“Is it about dinnertime?” he murmured to Knightley, scratching the big dog’s back just above his tail. “I suppose we should see about getting you two something to eat. Let’s — ”

A low, piercing howl rose up, distant and chilling. Ears pinned, Knightley yelped and scrambled out the door, Rose following close on his heels. Heart pounding, Charles tossed his book aside and followed them out.

While they fled to hide under his bed, he wheeled himself to the back, let himself out onto the balustrade. Excitement firing through his veins, he closed his eyes and sent his mind out toward the forest, searching for that hint of sentience, of human awareness.

He’d lied to Raven earlier. It wasn’t a gut feeling that told him that the wolf out there was no ordinary animal. No, he’d felt the creature’s mind, sensed its human nature lurking underneath the animal. The first time Charles had felt it, he’d refused to believe it. It was impossible. He must have been mistaken. The painkillers must have been playing tricks with his telepathy, making him see impossible things. But over the last few weeks, his telepathy had snagged onto that mind again and again — he’d even been able to slip into it once or twice, though much of it had been blurred behind the snarling, defensive instincts of a feral creature.

He couldn’t deny it: that wolf, whatever it was, had been human once.

Charles suspected it had forgotten that.

That was why he’d taken to leaving things on the edge of the forest. Books, clothes, shoes, newspapers, covered plates of toast and eggs and cookies. Maybe the wolf could be brought back. Maybe it only needed to be reminded of what civilization was.

Some rational part of his mind told him that this was stupid and ridiculous and, frankly, probably pretty fucking dangerous. Maybe he  _was_  hallucinating all of this, and that wolf out there was just a real wolf that might tear his throat out for wandering too far into its territory. Maybe he was just fucking losing it after the hellish five months he’d had after the accident. But fuck it, he thought fiercely. This — solving the mystery of this wolf, maybe even helping it — was one of the only things that made him excited to get up in the mornings, and these days, he needed all the reasons he could get.

There — after a couple of minutes of searching, he found the wolf slinking along the border of the forest, where wilderness melted into trimmed, neat lawn. He couldn’t read the wolf’s mind, but he could gather enough impressions to get a sense of how it was feeling. Right now, it was hungry and curious, though it was wary of leaving the safety of the trees.

Over the last couple of weeks, Charles had started leaving his gifts a little further away from the tree line, partly because he hoped to coax the wolf into view, partly because it was really fucking exhausting, pushing himself through grass. Eyes closed, he tracked the wolf’s progress as it paced uncertainly through the underbrush and then finally, in an explosive rush, burst out from the trees, snagged the basket Charles had set out for it, and bolted back into the forest.

Despite the brevity of it all, Charles couldn’t help but grin. The wolf was consistently accepting his gifts these days. Surely that had to be a good sign.

That put him in a good enough mood that even struggling with the shower didn’t depress him as much as it usually did, and once he was clean and in bed, he felt…not exactly  _happy_ , but not angry or bitter or hopeless. That was an improvement.

That night, he dreamed of running. Not on two feet but on four, and he could smell — god, he could smell  _everything_ , the dew in the grass, the birds roosting in the trees for the night, squirrel tracks, rotting branches, the turning of the leaves, even the moonlight. Even the  _moonlight_. It was exhilarating. He wanted to laugh but when he opened his mouth, a growl came out instead, low and rumbling, and then the urge to howl was upon him and he threw back his head and —

Woke up. Moonlight slanted in through the open window to his left.

The  _open_  window?  

He was aware, abruptly, of another mind in his room.

Scrambling upright, he stared at the figure standing at the end of his bed, heart hammering violently in his chest. After a frozen second of shock, he seized the stranger’s mind to dig out its intentions and realized that it felt familiar somehow.

And then he realized — it was the wolf. Or rather, it was the human mind that had been buried underneath the wolf’s wild instincts for so long.

His throat was so dry that it was a moment before he could speak. “My name is Charles,” he said slowly. “What’s yours?”

The man stared at him. In the moonlight, Charles could see he was handsome, in his thirties maybe, wide at the shoulders, narrow at the hips, lean all over — and utterly naked.

Charles stared back.

The man growled. After a moment, Charles realized he was clearing his throat. When he spoke, his voice was deep, rough, and accented. “Erik,” he said. “My name is Erik.”

Skin prickling with adrenaline, Charles said, “It’s nice to finally meet you in person, Erik.”

Erik inclined his head. He stood with an odd stillness, like a wolf frozen in place, assessing its prey. After a pause, he said gruffly, “Thank you. For the food and…everything else. I have no idea how long I’ve been lost in the wolf’s mind, but you…you brought me out of it.”

So he had been right. Charles couldn’t help but laugh in relief, and in joy. “I thought as much. I’m glad I could help you.”

“You did. The food and the newspapers reminded me of when I was human. And the clothing.”

“Though you didn’t seem to have much use for them,” Charles remarked. His shock was starting to take on an edge of hysteria. There was a  _werewolf_ standing naked in his bedroom in the middle of the night. It was ridiculous. Absolutely  _absurd._ “And,” he found himself adding, staring down at Erik’s impressively long cock, which was lying soft between his thighs, “I’ve clearly been buying the wrong size underwear.”

Erik’s eyes widened. Charles blushed scarlet. “Oh god, please ignore that. It’s the shock talking. It’s just — this is the last thing I ever expected. I didn’t mean — I wasn’t trying to…Jesus, this is so embarrassing. Do you want a robe or something? Or pants?”

Instead of offended, Erik seemed amused. “It’s all right. If you’re uncomfortable, I can go.”

“No! I’m not — ” Charles took a deep, steadying breath. “I’d like you to stay, please. I’ve been dying to talk to you for weeks now, and you’re finally here and I…I’d like to help you, if you’ll let me.”

Erik studied him for a long moment, his eyes pale in the moonlight. He was beautiful, Charles thought. Beautiful and deadly, a hint of the ruthless wolf still lurking in his eyes.

At last, he nodded. “I don’t know how long it’s been since I…since the last time I was human. I need some time to adjust.”

Charles smiled, his heart pounding in desperate excitement. “You can stay here for as long as you’d like. I’ll give you whatever you need.”  

After a moment, Erik smiled back. It looked strange on his mouth, like he was unused to the expression. But with some practice, Charles thought, it would be as beautiful as the rest of him.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll stay.”


	90. charles and raven pre-xmfc

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: "My nightmares are usually about losing you" with Charles and Raven. 
> 
> Charles taking Raven in when they're children.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [on tumblr here](http://ikeracity.tumblr.com/post/166450844069/charles-raven-ith-the-prompt-my-nightmares-are)

As had become his habit over the last few weeks, Charles slipped quietly away from the dinner table a few minutes before everyone else had finished eating. His mother and Kurt paid him little attention, and Cain was too intent on demolishing his plate to spare him even a glance. No one noticed that Charles had scooped half of his dinner into his napkin. And no one but the servants noticed him ducking out of the dining room.

Once he was sure no one was watching, he scampered up the stairs back to his room, fingers tingling with excitement. Even though this was hardly the first time he’d done this, it felt illicit and exhilarating every time. He hardly ever broke the rules. He had never felt the urge to, never had any reason to. But now…

Heart thumping, he made his way back to his room, shut the door securely behind him, and hurried over to the closet door, throwing it open.

Raven scrambled out from where she’d been hiding underneath a rack of his clothes. “You’re back!”

Relief rushed through him. Some part of him was always afraid that when he came back, Raven would be gone somehow. Maybe she’d be discovered, or maybe she’d grow tired of living in his closet and run away again, vanishing from his life as abruptly as she’d entered it. But there she was every time, as glad to see him as he was to see her.

“I brought dinner,” he said, holding the napkin out to her. “It’s meatloaf and potatoes and green beans. There was cobbler for dessert, too, peach I think, but I thought it’d be too messy and besides, you didn’t like the peaches I brought for you last time so I figured you wouldn’t like that either.”

Raven was barely listening to him — she was too busy stuffing potato slices into her mouth, digging through the napkin’s contents hungrily. She reminded him of an animal sometimes, a little wild and difficult to approach, hard to understand. But he was getting better at reading her these days. At least she seemed to trust him now.

Charles sat next to her as she ate, watching the way her yellow eyes flashed in appreciation as she happened upon a flavor she particularly liked. He’d never get tired of looking at her. She was so beautiful and perfect and amazing. She was proof he wasn’t a freak, proof that other people like him existed out there in the world. Special people.

After a few minutes, Charles said, “I’ve been thinking about what we should do, and I think…I think you should stay here. With me.”

“In your closet?” Raven said dubiously, through a mouthful of meatloaf.

Charles winced but didn’t scold her, since he hated it when his mother scolded him about his manners. “No, not exactly. I mean, you can stay here in the house with me. Permanently.”

Raven regarded him curiously. “How?”

“I could make my mother take you in. You could be my sister.”

“Like Cain is your brother?”

“He’s  _not_  my brother,” Charles snapped. When she flinched back, he held up his hands and said hurriedly, “I’m sorry, I’m not angry with you. It’s just — Cain’s not my brother. He’s just…a bully. That’s what he is.”

Raven watched him warily. “So I’ll be…your sister then?”

“Yes.” He was relieved she was at least considering it. “I’ll convince Mother that she found you and decided to take you in out of…of the goodness of her heart, or something like that.” That was going to be hard to make her believe. Mother didn’t just do things  _out of the goodness of her heart_. But he’d make it work somehow. He wasn’t going to give Raven up, not when he’d just found her.

“Can you really do that?” Raven asked, deeply skeptical.

“I think so.” He hesitated, then said, “Let me worry about that. Just say you’ll stay? Please?”

“You really want me to stay here? You really want me to be your sister?”

“I…” Charles hesitated again, embarrassed by how badly he wanted her to say yes. But what did he have to be embarrassed about? It was the truth. There was nothing wrong with saying the truth.

“My nightmares these days are usually about losing you,” he confessed. “I know we only just met three weeks ago, but I…I don’t want you to go anywhere. I don’t want to be alone anymore, and I don’t think you want to be alone either. You’re my first real friend, and I can’t stand the thought of not having you around forever. So will you stay?” He took her hand, squeezed it. “Please?”

For a long, painful moment, Raven stared inscrutably at him and said nothing. Then, in a flurry of movement, she pushed aside the napkin and threw herself into his arms, nearly knocking him flat onto his back. “Yes,” she whispered, “I’ll stay.”

Charles laughed in sheer relief. “Forever,” he insisted. “Say you’ll stay  _forever_.”

“I’ll stay forever,” she said, laughing too. “Happy?”

Charles hugged her close, his heart filled to bursting. “Yes.”


	91. post-cuba fix-it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: "My nightmares are usually about losing you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [on tumblr here](http://ikeracity.tumblr.com/post/167202737904/cherik-and-25)

Charles’s dreams woke him up. This wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, not these days. Erik woke sweating, a hard knot of pain and grief in his chest. For a long few minutes, he could only lay there, staring at the dark ceiling as the pressure around his chest gradually faded. Once he could breathe again, he wiped the dampness from his eyes and turned to shake Charles awake.

He barely had to touch Charles to rouse him. Charles had always been a light sleeper, and these days, it seemed like he dozed more than slept, always hovering on the edge between consciousness and true, restful sleep. For a second, they stared at each other, faces shadowed in the darkness. Then Charles closed his eyes and said, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s fine.” Erik sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, his back to Charles. It was a struggle to control the now-familiar wave of self-loathing that washed over him, hot and acidic. He clenched his hands on his thighs, hating the way the metal of the nightstand trembled in tune with his emotions. “I’ll sleep in my room tonight.”

Charles didn’t stop him when he got up and walked to the door. Erik gritted his teeth, telling himself he wasn’t disappointed. What had he expected? Charles had already been more than kind, inviting Erik back into his home — into his  _bed_  — after what had happened. After Erik had  _broken_  him, nearly severed his spine in two. They’d tried to pick up the pieces in the last few months, god, they’d  _tried_ , but Charles still had nightmares of Cuba nearly every night, and Erik couldn’t bear it, knowing he’d hurt Charles not once but a dozen times over, in memories and dreams. Charles was probably secretly relieved that Erik was offering to go. Maybe he could finally get a good night’s sleep with Erik gone.

He’d just opened the door when Charles said, “Erik, wait.”

Heart lurching, Erik turned. Charles had pushed himself up onto his elbows, his expression unreadable in the dark. After a beat of silence, Charles said softly, “Come back. Please.”

Slowly, Erik shut the door and returned to the bed. As soon as he climbed in, Charles pushed into his arms, burrowing into his chest. Erik froze, hands hovering awkwardly over Charles’s shoulders. This was perhaps the most intimate they’d ever been since coming home from the hospital. Part of Erik wanted desperately to pull Charles closer and hold him tight. But another, greater part of him wanted to push Charles away because Erik didn’t deserve this anymore — didn’t deserve  _him._

“Shut up,” Charles said, his voice muffled against Erik’s shirt.

Erik blinked. “What?”

“I’ve been listening to you hate yourself for weeks because of what happened, and I’m tired of it.” Charles raised his head, his eyes gleaming fiercely. “It wasn’t your fault. It was an accident, that was all.”

“An accident that’s left you in a wheelchair for the rest of your life,” Erik said bitterly. “I did that.”

“Not on purpose. No one could have predicted what would happen, Erik. You can’t blame yourself for — ” He laughed, though it sounded less like a laugh and more like the breath before a sob. “ — for stupid, rotten luck.”  

Erik tilted his head back, trying to blink away the sudden stinging in his eyes. “Don’t say that just to make me feel better,” he said, forcing himself to breathe evenly through the rage that swirled inside him — rage at Shaw, rage at Moira, and most of all, rage at himself. “I’ve felt your dreams. You’ve never had dreams like that before…”  _Before I did this to you._

Charles was silent for a long, painful moment. Then he let out a trembling breath and pulled Erik close, burying his face into Erik’s neck.  _Oh, darling. All this time, you thought I was dreaming about what happened to me?_

The warmth and love in his voice made Erik shudder. “What else would make you feel like that?” he asked hoarsely, closing his eyes.  _Pain and grief and loss?_

 _My nightmares aren’t about that,_ Charles whispered.  _My nightmares are usually about losing you._

He knew Charles wasn’t lying — he could feel the truth of every word. And yet, it was so ridiculous that he nearly laughed. “Losing me?” Of all the things that had happened,  _that_  was what haunted him?

“You weren’t going to take that helmet off,” Charles said quietly. “If Moira hadn’t — if things hadn’t happened the way they had, I might have lost you forever. That frightens me.”

“You can’t possibly be  _glad_  that that happened,” Erik said, aghast. “I  _hurt_  you.”

Charles didn’t loosen his grip when Erik tried to pull away. “I’m not glad, no. But I can bear the loss of my legs. I couldn’t bear losing you.” Resting his head on the curve of Erik’s shoulder, he let out a slow, shaky breath. “I wish things could have turned out differently. God knows I do. But it could have been worse. So no, I don’t dream about what happened to me, and I don’t dream about what a monster you are. Put that thought out of your head.”

A thick, complicated knot of emotion rose up in Erik’s chest. He didn’t know whether to cry or argue or snarl at Charles for being far too naïve, far too forgiving. In the end, all he could do was wrap his arms more tightly around Charles and press a fierce kiss to his temple.  _You’re never going to lose me,_ he said.  _I promise_.

Charles nuzzled his shoulder, radiating quiet love and gladness.  _I know._


	92. protective erik college AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for black_betty and cattycas for the prompts: "“I’m not apologizing for what I said to that asshole/jerk… He/she was saying terrible things about you" and "Really, if you told me to I'd go punch them for you."

“Look, I’m not apologizing for what I said to that asshole. He was saying terrible things about you.” Erik hurried to keep up with Charles’s wheelchair, which Charles was wheeling down the sidewalk at what felt like the speed of light. “Really, if you told me to I’d go back and punch him for you.”

Charles turned the street corner so sharply Erik reflexively reached out with his powers to keep the wheelchair from tipping. “Did you have to provoke him, Erik? Really?”

“He started it!”

“You should’ve just let it go!”

Erik gritted his teeth. “I couldn’t let that prick think he’d won.”

“So you had to pick a fight with him in the middle of the bar?” Charles snapped. “You had to give him the chance to humiliate me in front of  _everyone_  there?”

“He was already  _trying_  to humiliate you,” Erik growled. “I was only trying to stand up for you.”

But it was clear that Charles wasn’t in any mood to listen. He’d already made up his mind to be upset with Erik, and nothing Erik said was going to change that.  

 _You’re being a dick,_ Erik thought peevishly at him, making the words as loud and sharp as possible. Charles rebuffed him with a stinging mental jab, which Erik took grim satisfaction in because at least that meant Charles had heard.

They made their way back home without another word. Thankfully it was only a few blocks because the temperature was starting to drop and Erik didn’t think he could stand being around Charles for much longer. What had Charles wanted him to do? Say absolutely nothing while his best friend was being verbally abused by his dirtbag of an ex? Erik had only been trying help, so why the fuck was  _he_  the bad guy?

As soon as they entered their apartment, Charles wheeled himself straight into his room and shut the door. That suited Erik just fine. He threw his keys into the key dish by the door, poured himself a drink in the kitchen, and then retreated to his own room to stew.

There was no point in trying to do any homework; he was too keyed up for that. Instead, he took out the box of metal jacks he kept in his desk drawer, sat in bed, and melted the jacks into puddles, then reformed them, then melted them again, over and over. It was something his mother had had him do when he was a kid to calm him down whenever he was upset, and it almost always worked. Almost.

He didn’t feel much calmer after ten minutes, but that was probably because he was drinking at the same time and alcohol always made him more belligerent. With a sigh, he set the half-finished glass of rum and coke down on his nightstand and flopped onto his back, staring moodily at the ceiling. He couldn’t stop thinking about the pale, stricken expression on Charles’s face as his asshole ex had sneered insults at him. He wished he’d given into the urge to punch that smug bastard right in the mouth.

Charles’s door opened with a soft, telltale creak that seemed to echo in the silence. A moment later, he felt Charles’s wheelchair coming down the hall, no doubt headed for the bathroom, or for the kitchen. But instead, it stopped just in front of his door, and after a few seconds, there was a knock.

Erik sat up. The jacks, which had been orbiting sullenly above him, whisked back into their box on the nightstand. Was Charles coming to berate him some more? Or apologize?

 _Better be the latter,_ Erik thought, gesturing his door open with a surly beckon of his fingers.

“Hello,” Charles said softly. He didn’t look angry, only tired and a little rueful. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah.”

He wheeled in slowly, stopping at the foot of Erik’s bed. His eyes flicked to the box of jacks and the drink on Erik’s nightstand before settling on Erik. “I’m…sorry. I shouldn’t have blown up at you. You didn’t deserve that.”

“Wow, an actual apology.” Erik made a show of glancing out the window over his desk. “Are pigs flying, too?”

“Don’t be an ass,” Charles grumbled. “I was wrong, okay? I was just—really upset, and I took it out on you. I shouldn’t have done that. And I really am grateful that you stood up for me. Thank you.”

Erik’s annoyance melted away. He never could stay angry with Charles when he was this contrite, and this disheartened. “I should’ve beat the shit out of him. He deserved it.”

“What, and spent the rest of the night in jail?” Charles said with a soft laugh. “No, he wasn’t worth it.”

 _But you are_.

Erik clamped that thought down tight so Charles wouldn’t overhear it. This wasn’t the time to let his embarrassing infatuation get the better of him. They were best friends. Erik wasn’t about to ruin that.

Instead, forcing a wry grin, he said, “You know, you have the worst taste in guys. First Greg, then this guy…”

Charles groaned. “Greg  _was_  uniquely awful, wasn’t he?”

“Just terrible.”

“I really should stop dating such assholes, shouldn’t I?”

“Absolutely.”

Charles stared at him for a long moment. Then he blurted out, “Do you want dinner?”

It was a normal enough thing to say, but the eager, nervous way Charles said it made Erik blink. “What?”

“I mean,” Charles said, making a visible effort to calm himself down, “do you want to have dinner sometime? With me?”

“We have dinner all the time. We’re roommates—”

“As a date,” Charles said loudly. “Do you want to go out on a date with me sometime?”

Erik gaped at him, struggling to make sense of what he’d just said. A  _date?_ Like a  _romantic date?_ Did that mean Charles was interested in him? Did Charles  _like_  him?

“I do,” Charles said, blushing fiercely. “And, er, please don’t feel any pressure to say yes. If you don’t feel the same way, just tell me I’m having a ridiculous crush and I’ll get over it, I promise—”

“Yes,” Erik managed.

“Yes, it’s a ridiculous crush and I should get over it, or—”

“Yes, I’ll go out with you,” Erik interrupted impatiently. Trust Charles to make him feel so exasperated and utterly ecstatic at the same time. “I’ve been really stupidly in love with you for the last three years. How haven’t you noticed?”

“You… _what?”_

“Yeah.” Erik grinned helplessly. “Surprise.”

Charles stared at him for another moment, blue eyes wide and incredulous. Then he wheeled himself around the side of Erik’s bed and stopped by the nightstand, just within reach. “Sorry,” he said breathlessly, laying a hand on Erik’s knee, “but I think I’m going to have to kiss you now.”

Erik’s grin widened. Slowly, he slid off the bed and climbed carefully into Charles’s lap. It was a little awkward and the wheels dug into his thighs, but the look of absolute delight on Charles’s face made it a hundred percent worth it.

“Well,” Erik murmured, “I think I’m going to have to let you.”

Tentatively, Charles wrapped a hand around the back of Erik’s neck and pulled him down until their lips met. Almost the moment their mouths touched, Charles’s mind opened, and Erik was swept up in a flood of affection, love, relief, happiness, and warmth, all of it so potent that it struck him dizzy. He clutched at Charles’s shoulders to steady himself, gasping into Charles’s mouth.

 _Sorry,_ Charles said, eyes bright when he pulled back.

Erik shook his head. It took a moment for him to find his voice, and when he finally did, all he could manage to say was, “Yeah, this is definitely better than spending the night in jail.”

Charles hugged him close and laughed so hard that he shook.  


	93. prince charles, royal guardsman erik AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for pearlfiction for the prompt: "I'll go see what the noise was."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [on tumblr here](http://ikeracity.tumblr.com/post/170359682999/ill-go-see-what-the-noise-was)

“Erik?” Charles whispered.

Erik squeezed his eyes shut, pretending he hadn’t heard.  _Just go back to sleep,_ he thought.  _Please just go back to sleep._

After a moment, Charles tried again. “Erik? Are you awake?”

Knowing he wouldn’t give up, Erik groaned softly and opened his eyes. Moonlight painted several thick swathes across the ceiling above him, illuminating bits and pieces of the intricate, vibrant paintings that adorned the ceilings and walls of every royal chamber. “What is it?”

“I thought I heard something outside the window.”

There was a brief, hopeful pause. Erik determinedly said nothing.

Finally, Charles pleaded, “Will you go check it?”

“It’s nothing,” Erik said, a bit grumpily. For the last few nights, Charles had been spooked by random small noises, and he’d been forcing Erik to get up every time and look for the source. It was always nothing, of course. Just figments of a child’s overactive imagination.

“I’m not a  _child_ ,” Charles said reproachfully. “And I’m not imagining things.”  _I heard something. I know it_.

“Stay out of my head,” Erik grumbled, sitting up.  _Of course you’re a child,_ he wanted to add.  _You’re eleven years old and you’re still afraid of the dark._

Charles overheard him, because he never listened to Erik when Erik told him not to pry. “You’re only five years older than I am,” he sniffed. “That’s not much, you know.”

“You’re still a boy. I’m almost a man.” Erik was old enough to have been selected as prince’s personal royal guardsman. Though he was technically still in training, that made him practically a soldier already. He was hardly a child like Charles.  

“I’m not a  _child_ ,” Charles said peevishly. “And anyway, as my personal guardsman, it’s your duty to obey my every order, isn’t that right? So check the windows, if you please.”

Erik rolled his eyes. Sometimes Charles could be an imperious little brat. “Fine. I’ll go see what the noise was.”

Throwing back his blanket, he rose from his pallet on the floor, skirted around the foot of Charles’s bed, and made his way over to the windows, which spanned the length of the wall. By day, they provided a breathtaking view of the palace grounds and the city beyond the palace walls. Now they looked down into a darkness lit here and there by torchlight.

“There’s nothing out there,” Erik said. He even ran his powers out just to be sure, though he highly doubted an assassin could scale the hundreds of feet required to reach the prince’s window. Nothing.

“So you woke me up for no reason,” Erik groused. “ _Again_.”

Charles smiled meekly at him. “I’m sorry. I was  _sure_  I heard—”

Something slammed into the window inches from Erik’s face. He stumbled back, a strangled yell escaping through his teeth. Charles screamed.

A dark shape fluttered on the window ledge, dazed. Summoning his knife out from under his pillow, Erik grabbed the hilt so tightly the metal dug into his skin. Making sure to put himself in between Charles and the window, he took a slow, cautious step forward.

The shape fluttered again. Erik saw wings, a beak.

He released an explosive breath. “It’s a bird. Just a stupid bird.”

Glancing back, he found Charles starting at him, pale and wide-eyed with terror. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” He rapped his knuckles against the window. “You probably heard some birds rustling around out there. That’s all.”

“Well,” Charles said doubtfully, “all right.”

A rapid knock came at the door. “Your Highness! Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Charles called out, sounding flustered and embarrassed now. “I’m fine. It was just a bird at the window. I’m sorry if I alarmed you.”

The guard outside hesitated. “Are you sure, my lord?”

“I’m sure. I have Erik with me, I’m all right.”

They heard the guard’s footsteps retreating. With a sigh, Erik slid his knife back into its sheath and returned it to its resting place beneath his pillow. Pretending his heart wasn’t racing, he went back to his pallet and sat down. “It was just a bird.”

“I know.”

They both lay down. Erik shut his eyes and listened to Charles’s soft breathing.

After a couple of minutes, Charles whispered, “Erik?”

Suppressing a groan, Erik opened his eyes again.  

“Would you mind…sleeping with me? Just for tonight?”

It had been at least a year since they’d shared a bed. When Charles was even younger, he hadn’t been able to sleep without Erik next to him, close enough to share his warmth. It wasn’t officially part of Erik’s duty and he was pretty sure he’d have been reprimanded if they’d ever been discovered, but it had helped Charles sleep. This past year, Erik had been sleeping on his pallet, as was proper. Charles was growing up. He needed to learn how to be on his own, in a way, even if Erik was just a few feet away on the floor.  

But he couldn’t resist Charles’s silent, mental pleading. He’d never been able to say no to Charles, really.

“Fine,” he said, sitting up. “Just for tonight.”

When he climbed into bed, Charles snuggled over into his arms just like he used to, his face buried against Erik’s chest. He could feel that Charles’s heart was still beating faster than usual and stroked a gentle hand down Charles’s back. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’m right here.”

 _I know,_ Charles said, pressing just a bit closer.  _Goodnight, Erik._

Erik closed his eyes again, wrapping his arm snugly around Charles.  _Goodnight, Charles._

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [wrong door remix](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11401644) by [annejumps](https://archiveofourown.org/users/annejumps/pseuds/annejumps)
  * [World Champion[Art] (Football Dad AU Remix )](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11448474) by [JackyJango](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackyJango/pseuds/JackyJango)




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